MADAME     ACH  I  LLE  . 


AN    INTERVIKWKR'S   ALIUM. 


MADAME    ACHILLE 


I. 

A  noWEliV  VAyCEli  OF  FIFTY  YFAliS  AliO. 

"  Mme.  Achille  is  still  living-  somewhere  in  New  York,"  said  a 
gentleman  in  Nassau  Street  to  a  professional  interviewer  the 
other  day. 

•'  Mme.'  Achille  !  you  don't  say  so,"  was  the  answer.  "Why, 
she  was  at  the  Bowery  Theatre  when  it  first  opened  and  disap- 
peared from  the  stage  more  than  fifty  years  ago." 

"For  all  that  she  is  living  still,"  the  gentleman  said,  "and  if 
you  want  to  see  her  you  will  find  it  no  difficult  matter  to  find  her." 

II. 

THE  SEARCH  FOR  THE  DANSKUSE. 

It  was  not  so  easy,  however.  The  city  directory  throws  no 
light  on  the  subject,  and  the  present  generation  of  actors  and  dan- 
cers never  heard  of  Mme.  Achille.  But  she  was  in  her  day  a 
favorite  danscusc,  the  superior  of  Heloise,  the  e([ual  ot  Ihitin.  the 
friend  and  associate,  both  on  and  off  the  stage,  of  Celeste.  American 
dramatic  literature  is  almost  silent  in  regard  to  her,  l)ut  in  the 
playbills  of  the  past  her  name  is  of  frequent  occurrence,  and  it  was 
with  a  lively  interest  that  the  interviewer  thumbed  a  bundle  ot 
these  precious  documents  previous  to  the  interview  which  he 
contemplated    with    the   venerable  lady.      Equipped  with  all   the 


2 

information  which  could  be  gathereci  from  such  sources  and  from 
books,  he  bent  his  steps  toward  the  house  where  he  was  told  he 
could  obtain  information  in  regard  to  Mme.  Achille. 

"  Mme.  Achille,  the  dancer?"  said  the  young  gendeman,  inquir- 
ingly, who  opened  the  door.  "  I  know  Mme.  Achille  used  to  teach 
dancing,  but  I  never  heard  that  she  was  ever  on  the  stage." 

He  could  not  give  any  information,  however,  as  to  where  she 
was  to  be  found,  except  that  she  lived  somewhere  in  l\venty- 
first  Street.  A  homoeopathic  dose  of  the  interviewer's  newly 
acquired  knowledge  was  imparted,  and  this  had  the  effect  of 
elicitinir    the   s^entleman's    assistance. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  said,  reflectively;  "she  owns  a  house  in 
Clinton  Place,  about  three  doors  from  Broadway.  It  is  probable 
you  could  hear  of  her  whereabouts  by  going  there.  I  know  that 
she  is  in  the  city  at  the  present  time,  and  I  hope  you  may  be  able 
to  find  her." 

III. 

FANNY    SOLIER. 

This  clew  led  to  the  discovery  of  Mme.  Achilles  residence, 
No.  I  24  West  Twenty-first  Street. 

"  Her  name  isn't  Asheel,"  said  the  interviewer's  informant, 
"  but  Fanny  Azulia." 

Asheel  or  Azulia  was  all  the  same  to  the  scribe,  and  he  pro- 
nounced the  name  in  his  own  way  when  he  reached  the  house.  A 
tidy  servant  girl  was  busily  engaged  in  polishing  up  the  handle 
of  the  big  front  door,  and  it  was  to  her  that  the  interviewer  next 
applied. 

"  Is  Madame  Achille  at  home  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Indade  and  she  is,  sir;  but  her  name  isn't  Achille,  but 
Achille-Solier."  was  the  answer. 

"  Achille  Solier!"  the  interviewer  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  added,  "  Achille-Solier,  or  Fanny  Solier,  which- 
ever you  like  best." 

The  name  was  a  surprise  to  the  interviewer,  but  subsequent 
investigation  showed  that  it  was  ecjually  surprising  to  the  jour- 
nalists who  preceded  him. 

"  Achille-.Solier — Achilles,  heel.  Ph(L'bus,  what  a  name  for  a 
dancer,"  cried  one  of  the  dramatic  critics  of  the  Madame's  advent. 


3 


IV. 
THE  BANSKLrSE  FOUND. 


"  Can  I  see  her?"  the  interviewer  inquired,  determined  to  assert 
the  modesty  of  his  tribe. 

"  Top  floor,  front  room,"  was  the  laconic  answer,  and  he  was 
left  to  find  his  own  way  to  the  apartment  of  the  once  famous 
but  now  foreotten  artiste.  The  door  was  wide  oiocn,  and  the 
ao-ed  lady  was  reclining  on  a  sofa  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 
She  rose  when  she  heard  his  knock.  She  stood  as  erect  as  a 
young-  girl  of  twenty  and  bowed  gracefully  and  graciously,  while 
she  was  evidently  mystified  at  the  meaning  of  the  intrusion. 

"  I  have  come  from  the  Universe,''  the  interviewer  said,  "  to 
talk  with  you  in  regard  to  the  theatre  of  the  past — when  you  were 
yourself  on  the  stage." 

"  It  was  a  long  time  ago,"  she  replied,  with  a  quaint  shrug  of 
the  shoulders.  Evidently  she  was  not  inclined  to  be  communica- 
tive on  a  subject  which  she  has  ignored  for  nearly  half  a  century 
— a  subject  on  which  she  seldom  speaks  even  with  the  members 
of  her  own  family. 

"I  know  nothing  of  her  theatrical  life,"  said  her  daughter 
afterward.  "  If  I  ask  her  in  regard  to  it  she  says  she  does  not 
know." 


V. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  HISTORICAL. 

Mme.  Achille  was  born  in  Lyons,  France,  in  1797,  and 
consequendy  she  is  now  eighty-three  years  old.  She  married  M. 
Achille,  a  dancer,  early  in  life,  and  with  him  came  to  the  United 
States  in  1827.  They  appeared  together  at  .the  Bowery  in  a 
gr^xnd  pas  de  deux  on  the  ist  of  March,  only  a  few  weeks  after 
the  debut  of  Mile.  Hutin,  who  introduced  the  French  style  of  danc- 
ing to  the  American  public.  When  Hutin  bounded  on  the 
Bowery  stage,  February  7,  1827,  her  symmetrical  proportions 
liberally  displayed  by  the  force  of  a  bewildering //;7'//tV/f,  every 
lady  in  the  lower  tier  of  boxes  immediately  left  the  theatre,  while 


the  whole  audience  was  crimsoned  with  shame.  As  a  conse- 
quence, Mme.  Achille  was  compelled  to  adopt  a  pair  of  Turkish 
trousers,  and  it  was  in  such  a  garb  that  she  first  showed  her  grace 
and  agility  to  the  theatre-goers  of  half  a  century  ago. 

'*  The  prejudices  of  the  old-time"  patrons  of  the  stage  were 
very  strong."  said  the  interviewer  after  this  episode  had  been 
discussed.  "^Another  significant  shrug  of  the  shoulders  was    the 

only  answer. 

The  year  of  Mme.  Achille's  appearance  in  America  was  a 
period  which  was  described  by  the  veteran  manager,  William  B. 
Wood,  as  a  time  when  the  drama  was  at  sixes  and  sevens. 
"There  had  been  a  complete  dc/nn-ic:'  he  says,  "or  breaking  up 
of  everything  that  had  been.  Permanence  now  belonged  to 
nothing  except  failure,  disorder  and  bankruptcy.  The  vitality  of 
the  theatre  neither  was  nor  can  be  destroyed,  but  its  action  was 
irregular,  spasmodic  and  disordered."  But  it  was  a  period  of 
great  activity  and  the  managers  were  looking  in  e\ery  direction 
for  attractions  that  would  draw  the  public.  During  the  ten  years 
from  182-7  to  1S37  more  distinguished  names  were  contributed 
to  the  American  stage  than  during  any  decade  either  before  or 
since.  Music  and  the  drama  both  flourished,  although  more  than 
one  caterer  to  the  public  taste  was  ruined.  Dancing,  too.  became 
the  rage,  and  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  American 
stage,  it  was  sung  of  one  of  Mme.  Achille's  contemporaries  : 

Mincing  Ravenot  sports  tight  pantalettes. 
And  turns  fops'  heads  while  turning  pirouettes. 

But  even  of  Celeste — the  divine  La  Bayadere — Wemyss 
wrote,  "  Her  poetry  of  motion  was  not  appreciated."  It  was  not 
long,  however,  until  grace  of  movement  had  its  effect,  and  in  a 
little  while  the  critics  began  to  rave  over  the  beauty  and  dexterity 
of  the  dancers,  b'orgetting  the  imputation  of  gross  immodesty 
with  which  the  introduction  of  the  French  school  of  dancing  was 
received,  the  writers  for  the  press  and  the  public  soon  perceived 
that  ever\  limb,  as  seen  in  the  perfect  dance,  was  instinct  with 
ekKjuence,  and  the  "luxury  of  motion,"  the  sylph-like  movements 
and  the  air)-  s|)ring  and  jouissancc  of  the  Vestris  and  Achilles 
were  compared  to  the  swell  and  fall  of  the  Summer  sea,  the 
waving  grace  of  the  ripening  meadow,   the  sweep  of  the  willow 


5 


branch,  and  the  skimming-  of  a  l)ird  in  the  air.  "We  have  stars 
in  tragedy,  stars  in  comedy,  sinoing-  stars  and  dancing  stars," 
wrote  Isaac  Harby  at  the  time  Wood  and  Wemyss  w(trc  com- 
plaining, "but  whatever  be  the  attraction  it  is  evident  that  foreign 
no  less  than  domestic  luminaries  are  expensive,  and  that  however 
the  ingratitude  of  republics  may  suffer  the  old  lights  to  burn  out, 
they  can  only  prevail  upon  foreign  stars  to  shoot  from  their 
spheres  for  a  consideration  of  rather  more  charm  and  power  than 
*  to  hear  a  mermaid's  music.'" 

As  Hutin  was  the  first  of  the  "  dancing  stars"  of  whom  Harby 
and  the  rest  of  the  critics  wrote  so  enthusiastically,  and  as  Madame 
Achille  immediately  followed  her,  the  interviewer  was  intent  in 
recalling  the  venerable  danseuse's  recollections  of  her  compeer  and 
contemporary. 


VI. 

RECOLLECTTONS  OF  GHEA  T  DANCERS. 

"  Do  you  know  what  became  of  Hutin  ?"  he  asked. 
Mme.  Achille  shook  her  head,   saying,  "She  married   M.  La- 
basse." 

"  You  remember  Mile.  Heloise,   of  course  ?"  the    scribe    con- 
tinued. 

"  Oh,  yes,"   Mme.  Achille  answered,  "  I   saw  her  a  few  years 
ago.      I  have  not  heard  whether  she  is  still  living  or  not." 

"  And  Mile.  Celeste  r 

"I  saw  her  in  1872,  when  I  was  last  in  Paris." 

All  of  these  dancers  came  to  New  York  within  a  few  weeks  of 
each  other,  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  some  of  them  at  least 
owed  more  to  the  Turkish  trousers  than  they  were  ever  willing  to 
acknowledge — it  is  even  probable  that  it  was  because  of  this 
restriction,  at  which  the  modern  playgoer  cannot  fail  to  laugh 
heartily,  that  Celeste  became  the  best  melodramatic  actress  of  her 
age.  They  also  had  the  effect  of  bringing  the  great  dancers 
then  in  the  country  in  conjunction  on  the  same  stage,  by  compell- 
ing the  managers  to  invent  ballets  of  action  for  the  displa)-  of 
terpsichorean  art.      The  first  ofthe.se  was  arranged  b)-  M.  Achille 


6 

and  was  entitled  "The  Deserter."  In  this  piece  Hiitin  appeared 
as  Louise  and  Mme.  Achille  as  Jeannette.  But  a  still  more 
remarkable  conjunction  was  in  a  ballet  of  the  same  kind,  the 
workof  jNI.  Labasse,  in  which  Celeste  appeared  as  Getulbe,  Heloise 
as  Fatima,  Hutin  as  Favorite,  and  Mme.  Achille  as  Kessie.  \Mien 
these  pieces  were  recalled  to  Mme.  Achille's  recollection  'she 
remembered  them  but  very  faintly. 

"They  must  have  been  played  at  the  Bowery,"  she  said, 
"  the  theatre  that  was  burned  soon  after  it  opened." 

"  Do  you  remember  appearing  at  the  Chatham  Theatre  for 
the  benefit  of  Mrs.  Gilfert  ?"  the  interviewer  inquired.  The  old 
lady  shook  her  head  doubtfully,  but  after  considerable  effort 
recalled  the  beneficiary  as  the  impoverished  widow  of  the  unfor- 
tunate manager  of  the  first  Bowery  Theatre.  Following  this 
theme  was  the  first  voluntar)-  information  which  Mme.  Achille 
afforded  in  regard  to  the  past. 

"  My  principal  experience  on  the  stage,"  she  said,  "  was  with 
Mme.  X^estris.  I  was  Cherubin  and  she  Susanne.  We  travelled 
together.     That  was  in  1829." 

It  was  impossible  to  induce  the  aged  danscuse  to  be  more 
specific.  The  Mme.  Vestris  referred  to  was  Mme.  Ronzi  Vestris, 
whose  son,  Armand  V^estris,  the  most  popular  dancer  of  his  day, 
gave  his  name  to  that  more  celebrated  Mme.  \  estris,  who  a  few 
years  later  became  the  most  noted  ornament  of  the  English  stage. 
The  second  Mme.  X'^estris  and  Mme.  Achille  were  born  in  the 
same  year. 


VII. 


NOT  AT  RICHMOND  I1TLL. 

"  When  did  you  retire  from  the  stage  ?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"In  1836,"  was  the  answer. 

"Were  you  ever  at  the  Richmond  Hill  Theatre?" 

"  Where  was  that?" 

"  In  X'arick  Street." 

"  X'arick  Street?" 

"Yes.      At  the  place  once  owned  b)-  Aaron  Burr." 


It  was  evident  Mine.  Achille  did  not  comprehend. 

"  He  was  once  the  husband  of  Mme.  Jumel,"  the  interviewer 
said  by  way  of  explanation. 

"  Mme.  Jumel  ?  I  knew  her.  I  do  not  know  what  became  of 
her." 

Mr.  Ireland  says  in  his  "  Records  of  the  New  York  Sta^re  " 
that  Mme.  Achille's  last  appearance  was  at  Richmond  Hill,  in 
1832,  but  it  will  be  observed  that  she  cannot  even  remember 
the  name  of  the  theatre. 

"  After  you  left  the  stage  what  did  you  do  ?" 

"I  taught  dancing." 

"Where?" 

"In  Walker  Street." 

"When  did  you  give  up  teaching?" 

"In  1848." 

"  Somebody,  in  writing  about  you  in  a  book,  says  you  re- 
turned to  Europe." 

"So  I  did,  several  times,  but  I  always  came  back  again." 


VIII. 


DANCING  FAST  AND  PRESENT. 

"  I  was  told  you  saw  the  '  Black  Crook'  at  Niblo's  a  few  years 
ago.  How  does  the  modern  ballet  compare  with  the  dancing  in 
your  day  ?" 

"  I  have  not  been  in  a  theatre  for  forty  years." 

This  brought  the  interview  to  a  close  and  the  interviewer 
retired.  His  bow  on  taking  leave  was  responded  to  widi  a  sim- 
plicity and  grace  that  a  modern  New  York  belle  could  scarcely 
equal,  and  with  him  he  bore  away  an  image  of  the  sprightly  old 
lady  which  he  can  never  forget.  Old  as  she  is,  the  traces  of  her 
girlish  beauty  still  remain.  Half  a  century  ago  she  must  have 
been  bewitching  indeed.  Mme.  Achille  accompanied  the  writer 
to  the  head  of  the  stairway,  but  she  evinced  no  interest  in  what 
he  might  say  of  her,  for  she  remarked  : 

"  I  never  read  the  newspapers." 

"  How  is  this?"  said  the  interviewer  afterward  to  his  original 
informant.   "Mme.  Achille  says  she  never  saw  the  '  Black  Crook.'" 


8 

"  You  saw  her  then  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  She  forgets.  I  took  her  n"i)seH,  and  she  was  very  much  sur- 
prised indeed.  I  cannot  describe  her  amazement  over  the  changes 
which  had  taken  place  in  the  pubHc  taste  since  she  was  on  the 
stage,  I  remember  that  she  spoke  of  the  trousers  which  she  wore, 
and  that  she  was  horrified  at  the  drapery  of  this  age.  She  was 
a  very  vigorous  and  active  old  lady  at  that  time ;  but  it  may  be 
that  her  memory  has  since  become  impaired.  I  have  not  seen 
her  for  several  years,  but  at  one  time  I  knew  her  very  well.  I 
was  a  pupil  of  hers  when  she  taught  dancing  in  this  city,  and 
although  forgotten  by  the  present  generation,  she  was  well  known 
and  very  popular  then.  Her  husband,  I  have  heard  it  said,  was  the 
best  male  dancer  ev^er  seen  in  America  at  the  time  of  his  appear- 
ance, and  she  was  scarcely  less  accomplished.  A  great  favorite  on 
the  stage,  she  afterward  became  the  pet  of  New  York  society, 
and  most  of  the  gentlemen  of  my  age  owe  their  ball-room  agility 
to  her  instructions.  Mme.  Achille  was  always  esteemed  as  a 
very  worthy  little  woman,  and  many  of  her  old  pupils  will  be 
pleased  to  learn  that  she  still  lives  and  has  been  able  to  retain  her 
faculties." 


IX. 

PERSONAL. 

Mme.  Achille  resides  with  her  daughter,  and  she  has  besides 
another  daughter  and  a  son,  whose  home  is  in  New  Jersey.  Her 
health  has  always  been  excellent,  and  in  spite  of  her  age  she  is  still 
as  quick,  active,  energetic  and  vigorous  as  many  persons  who 
are  thirty  years   her  junior. 


gA^.    A 


MLLE       AUGUSTA 


MADEMOISELLE   AUGUSTA. 


A  COUNTESS  IN  PRIVATE  AND  A  DANCER  IN  PLJJLIV. 

"They  all  praised  me  always,"  said  die  famous  Mile.  Augusta, 
widi  diat  exquisite  shrug  of  the  shoulders  which  only  people  of 
French  birth  and  education  know  how  to  employ.  A  meeting  had 
been  arrangfed  between  an  interviewer  of  the  Univcj^se  and  the 
most  enchanting  dancer  of  the  past,  and  the  opening  remark  of 
the  great  artiste,  drawn  from  her  by  a  commonplace  compliment, 
was  proof  that  the  interview  would  prove  a  chatt)'  and  pleasant 
one.  From  the  outset  the  interviewer  felt  embarrassed  by  the 
wealth  and  diversity  of  the  lady's  recollections,  and  it  was  only  her 
vivacity  and  intelligence  which  enabled  him  to  keep  pace  with  her 
reminiscences.  Before  him  was  a  danseuse  who  had  taken  the 
town  by  storm  before  he  was  born — when  even  the  American 
ballet  was  in  its  infancy — and  whose  step  was  still  as  light  and  her 
eye  as  bright  as  when  she  appeared  a  vision  of  loveliness  before 
the  astonished  gaze  of  the  fathers  and  grandfathers  of  the  present 
generation  on  the  boards  of  the  old  Park.  When  she  came  to 
America  in  1836,  Mile.  Augusta  was  already  married,  and  in  private 
life  she  was  entitled  to  be  called  the  Countess  de  Saintjames,  but 
neither  on  her  part  nor  on  that  of  her  husband,  the  Count,  was 
there  ever  any  assumption  of  the  rank  which  belonged  to  them. 
Frequent  references,  however,  have  been  made  in  the  newspapers 
to  the  romantic  union  of  a  French  nobleman,  a  descendant  of  the 
royal  Stuarts  of  England,  with  this  favorite  child  of  Terpsichore, 
but  to  a  lady  who  is  known  even  among  her  friends  as  plain  Mrs. 
Saintjames  they  could  not  fail  to  prove  offensive.  Although  Inlly 
a  quarter  of  a  century  has  passed  since  the  death  of  the  Count. 
Mrs.  Saintjames  is  still  as  sensitively  alive  to  any  imputation  upon 
her  husband  as  when  she  was  sought  after  by  the  managers  all 
over  the  country  and  he  was  her  business  agent  and  stage  director. 


10 


"The  private  affairs  of  an  artiste  are  something  entirely  different 
from  her  pubhc  career,"  she  said,  "and  ought  to  be  so  considered. 
They  all  praised  me,  as  I  said,  the  managers  as  well  as  the  public, 
but  I  had  the  easiest  part — I  simply  went  to  the  theatre  and  did 
my  work  there,  while  he  had  to  go  on  the  outside  and  had  all  the 
money  matters  on  his  hands." 

II. 

COUNT  DE  SAINTJA3IES. 

In  his  "  Records  of  the  New  York  Sta^e  "  Mr.  Ireland  refers  to 
the  frequent  difficulties  between  the  Count  de  Saintjames  and  the 
managers,  s.peaking  of  him  as  her  somewhat  venerable  husband. 
As  gently  as  possible  the  interviewer  called  her  attention  to  this, 
whereupon  the  lady  opened  her  eyes  in  mild  astonishment. 

"Mr.  Ireland,"  she  said,  "  why  he  wrote  to  me  some  years  ago 
saying  he  was  making  a  collection,  and  asking  me  for  any  auto- 
graphs or  letters  of  artists  which  I  might  have.  I  sent  him  what 
I  had,  but  if  I  had  known  he  was  going  to  say  anything  against 
my  husband  I  would  not  have  sent  him  one." 

"  What  could  have  induced  this  stage  historian,"  the  interviewer 
asked,  "  to  speak  of  the  Count  as  your  somewhat  venerable 
husband  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  cannot  tell  you  that,"  Mrs.  Saintjames  replied.  "  My 
husband  was  only  thirty- four  when  we  were  married  and  he  was 
not  yet  sixty-five  when  he  died.  But  people  will  talk  about  things 
the)'  know  nothing  about.  They  all  say  ni)-  husband  was  very 
difficult ;  he  was  difficult  because  he  was  honest  and  just.  There 
was  Mr.  Wemyss  in  Philadelphia,  he  kept  the  receipts  of  my 
benefit.  When  my  husband  protested  the  actors  formed  a  ring 
around  him  to  make  him  ficrht.  He  was  not  a  fiohtino-  man  and 
would  not  set  my  wrongs  right  in  that  way." 

"But  Mr.  Wemyss  was  a  fighter,"  the  interviewer  remarked. 
"  He  once  offered  to  fight  Mr.  W'ood  publicly  on  the  stage  of  the 
Chestnut  Street  Theatre." 

"It  was  not  Mr.  Wem)ss  who  wanted  to  fight  Mr.  Saint- 
james, but  one  of  the  actors,"  she  answered.  "  It  was  all  owing 
to  the  absence  of  Mr.  Archer,  who  had  engaged  to  go  with  us. 
The  fight  was  intended  to  afford  an  excuse  for  holding  on  to  the 
money  which  belonged  to  me." 


11 

III. 

JA I NA  GERL 1  /.    B  UFFETINGS. 

Mr.  Wemyss,  in  his  "  Twenty-six  Years  of  the  Life  of  an  Actor 
and  Manag-er,"  tells  this  story  in  a  way  to  make  the  Count  appear 
in  the  wrong  and  yet  with  an  obscurity  that  seems  intentional. 
The  effort  apparendy  is  to  create  the  impression  that  Mr.  .Saint- 
james  had  agreed  to  furnish  the  company  and  had  failed  in  his 
agreement,  but  even  this  is  not  direcdy  asserted.  "  He  engaged 
to  furnish  the  services  of  his  wife  (Mrs.  Bailey)  as  Ninka,  Mr.  I^ishop 
as  the  Unknown  and  Mr.  Archer  as  Olifour.  with  tweKc  ladies  as 
a  corps  de  ballet,"  says  Mr.  Wemyss.  the  pronoun  "  he  "  evidendy 
being  intended  for  Mr.  Saintjames,  but  the  parenthesis  enclosing 
the  name  of  Mrs.  Bailey — the  once  famous  Miss  Watson,  broucrht 
to  America  to  prevent  her  elopement  with  Paganini — making  even 
this  uncertain.  It  was  one  of  those  unfortunate  quarrels  the  rights 
and  wrongs  of  which  at  this  day  it  would  be  impossible  to  ascer- 
tain At  all  events,  Mrs.  Phillips  took  the  place  of  Mrs.  Bailey  and 
Mr.  Horncastle  that  of  Mr.  Bishop,  while  there  was  no  Olifour, 
and  the  part  was  read  by  Mr.  Pickering.  "The  furious  Count," 
Mr.  Wemyss  adds,  "  became  involved  in  a  quarrel  with  .Mr  fohn- 
ston  which  ended  in  blows,  and  I,  in  self-defence,  retained  the  pro- 
ceeds of  her  benefit  subject  to  a  legal  decision." 

"It  was  all  a  trick,"  Mrs.  Saintjames  asserts  most  earnestl)-.  "  and 
I  do  hope  the  Universe  will  do  justice  to  the  memor)-  of  m\-  hus- 
band, whose  reputation  has  been  injured  by  the  assertions  of  the 
tricky  managers,  with  whom  he  always  tried  to  deal  fairly." 

"Then  there  were  others  besides  Mr.  Wemyss  ?"  the  inter- 
viewer asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  Mrs.  Saintjames  replied.  "  Mr.  McKinney,  at 
Buffalo,  did  something  of  the  same  kind,  and  we  lost  $3,000 
through  Mr.  Barry,  in  Boston." 

Mr.  Barry  was  the  famous  Thomas  Barry  identified  w  Ith  the 
most  interesting  recollections  of  American  dramatic  history.  He 
made  his  first  appearance  in  this  country  at  the  Park  Theatre, 
December  16,  1826,  as  the  Stranger.  In  1833  he  went  to  Boston 
to  assume  the  manaofement  of  the  Tremont  Theatre,  but  the  enter- 
prise  failing,  he  returned  to  New  York  in  1839.     From  1841  until 


12 

Edmund  Simpson  retired  from  die  management  of  the  Park,  he 
was  the  efficient  sta^re  manager.  In  i8s6  he  went  to  Boston  once 
more  to  take  charge  of  the  new  Boston  Theatre. 

D.  D.  McKinney  was  "a  young  man  well  known  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Catharine  Market,"  who  first  appeared  at  the  Chatham 
Theatre  in  1831.  He  afterwards  became  a  favorite  actor  at  the 
Bowery,  but  was  dismissed  from  the  company  in  consequence  of 
his  share  in  the  riot  which  drove  Mr.  Farren  from  the  staoe  He 
then  became  one  of  the  firm  of  Dean  &  McKinney,  at  Buffalo, 
N-  Y.,  and  Columbus,  Ohio,  but  died  in  1839. 


WHY  MLLE.  AUGUSTA  CAME  TO  AMERTCA. 

"  How  did  it  happen  that  you  came  to  this  country  ?" 

"  It  was  through  Mr.  Maywood.  He  was  a  manager  in  Phila- 
delphia then,  and  came  to  Paris  to  engage  either  Taglioni  or  Fanny 
Ellsler,  but  as  neither  of  them  could  go  to  America  at  that  time, 
he  entered  into  negotiations  with  us.  I  was  to  write  to  him  in 
England  if  I  would  accept  his  offer,  which  I  did.  When  we  reached 
New  York  we  gave  him  notice  of  our  arrival,  but  he  wrote  back 
that  the  time  he  had  intended  for  us  had  been  given  away.  It  was 
another  trick,  but  it  was  better  as  it  was,  for  if  he  had  kept  his 
agreement  we  should  have  gone  straight  to  Philadelphia  and  begun 
there  instead  of  in  New  York." 

"  But  you  had  no  engagement  here.  Did  you  find  any  diffi- 
culty in  obtaining  one  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  great  difficulty.  Mr.  Simpson  would  engage 
me  for  only  three  nights,  and  then  on  very  low  terms.  My  hus- 
band said,  '  No  ;  we  have  not  come  so  far  for  nothing ;'  but  a 
friend  who  was  a  teacher  in  Philadelphia  advised  us  to  accept  the 
offer,  small  as  it  was,  and  we  did  so.  He  said  New  York  is  the 
Paris  of  America,  and  if  I  succeeded  here  all  the  theatres  would 
be  open  to  me." 

"  Your  reception  was  a  flattering  one  ?'' 

"Wonderful." 

"  In  what  did  you  appear?" 


13 

"  In  a  scene  from  the  ballet  of  '  Les  Naiedes/  There  were  two 
pieces  besides.  The  opera  of  '  Cinderella,'  in  which  Miss  Horton 
made  her  debut  the  same  night,  closed  the  entertainment,  and  my 
scene  was  arranged  between  the  opening  piece  and  th(;  opera.  At 
Mr.  Simpson's  request,  I  also  appeared  in  the  oi)era  in  a  character 
dance.  I  made  a  great  success.  After  the  close  of  the  perform- 
ance he  came  to  my  room  and  offered  me  the  ojition  of  three 
nights  more,  and  I  availed  myself  of  the  offer.  Then  I  engaged 
with  him  for  another  six  niirhts." 

"Mr.  Simpson  was  not  a  daring  manager?" 

"  He  was  very  slow.  But  he  asked  me  to  appear  again  and 
furnish  the  entertainment.  I  proposed  to  produce  Auber's  opera 
'La  Bayadere,'  in  which  Celeste  was  then  playing  at  the  National 
Theatre,  in  Church  Street.  There  it  was  called  the  'Maid  of 
Cashmere,'  but  the  manager  w^as  opposed  to  it  because  Celeste 
was  there,  and  he  was  afraid  of  the  opposition." 

"And  you — what  did  you  do  to  combat  his  views'?" 

The  answer  to  the  interviewer's  question  was  another  exquisite 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  which  it  was  plain  enough  was  also  her 
answer  to  the  manaofer. 


V. 

« 

MLLE.  CELESTE  AND  MISS  PA  TON. 

"  The  critics  at  the  time  said  you  eclipsed  Celeste  " 
"  It  .would  not  do  for  one  artist  to  speak  against  another.  We 
were  altogether  different.  She  played  pieces  that  I  would  not 
play  She  played  in  'The  French  Spy'  for  one,  and  was  more 
of  a  melodramatic  artist.  We  played  some  of  the  same  pieces,  it 
is  true,  but  not  alike.  I  brought  the  French  score  of  '  La  Baya- 
dere '  with  me,  and  it  was  translated  by  a  gentleman  named  Lip|)it 
as  nearly  as  possible  to  the  French  The  difference  between  the 
part  as  Celeste  played  it  and  my  acting  was  that  the  one  was  dia- 
logue and  the  other  recitative." 

"Explain  the  difference  in  the  pieces  more  fully?" 
"  In  Celeste's  play  the   dialogue   came  first  and  the  music  fol- 
lowed ;   in  mine  the  words  were  married  to  the  music." 


14 

"  Did  you  ever  appear  in  the  opera  in  English  before  producing 
it  at  the  Park  Theatre'?'^ 

"  In  England,  yes,  with  Mrs,  Wood  and  her  husband," 

''MissPatonr 

"  She  that  was  once  Lady  Lennox.  Mr  Wood  was  a  very 
handsome  man  and  she  was  very  fond  of  him." 

"  His  enemies  said  he  was  not  so  very  fond  of  her." 

The  answer  was  another  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"And  did  you  know  Lord  William  Lennox*?" 

"Very  well,  indeed.  He  was  a  friend  of  my  husband  and  often 
came  to  our  house  in  London.  He  was  homely,  but  a  very  fine 
gentleman  and  very  fond  of  his  wife.  Even  after  she  became  Mrs. 
Wood  he  often  asked  me  about  her  when  I  came  from  the  theatre." 


VL 
siravKssES. 

"  Did  Mr.  Simpson  pay  you  better  terms  for  '  La  Bayadere  ' 
than  during  your  first  engagement?" 

"Twice  as  much.  He  even  offered  me  an  engagement  for  a 
year,  but  I  refused  it  because  I  could  do  better." 

"  How  long  did  '  La  Bayadere  '  run  ?" 

"  Fifty   nights." 

"  In  how  many  pieces  did  you  appear  altogether?"  * 

"  I  produced  ten  ballets  in  all,  and  played  in  them  in  nearly 
every  city  in  this  country  and  in  Havana." 

"  I  presume  you  found  the  Havana  people  very  enthusiastic?" 

'•  Not  so  much  so  as  in  New  York.  I  never  saw  an)'  public  so 
enthusiastic  as  the  New  York  public.  When  I  go  to  the  theatre 
now  I  do  not  hear  the  applause  we  heard  then." 

"  How  do  the  theatres  of  the  two  epochs  compare?" 

Madame  Augusta  answered  with  a  significant  smile. 


VII. 

GREAT  DANCERS. 


"  Did  you  ever  meet  Madame  iVchille  ?"  the  interviewer  asked. 
"  Only    once    or    twice,    many   years    ago,"    Mrs.    Saintjames 


15 


i) 


answered.  '•  A  second  dancer  was  required  at  the  Park  Theatre 
in  1837  and  Mr.  Simpson  sugirested  her  as  one  who  niio;ht  consent 
to  take  the  part.  I  asked  her,  ])ut  she  declined,  sajing-  it  mi<4ht 
injure  her  with  her  pupils," 

"Where  were  you  when  Mile.  Ellsler  appeared  in  this  country  ?" 
"  I  was  in  Paris  then.      When  I   arri\  c:d   there   P'anny  told  me 
she  was  coming  over  here.    I  don't  know  how  she  did  in  America." 
"  When  did  )()u  retire  from  the  stage  ?" 

"  I  never  took  a  formal  farewell,  but  m)-  last  appearance  was 
with  Mme.  Anna  Bishop  at  the  Astor  Place  Opera  House." 
"  Was  that  before  or  after  the  Macready  riots  ?" 
"  Before.  I  was  present  the  night  Mr.  Macready  tried  to  phi)- 
Macbeth  but  was  prevented  b)-  the  mob.  Mr.  Hackett  had  gi\en 
me  his  box,  and  I  had  a  good  view  of  everything  that  was  done. 
The  noise  was  terrific.  I  saw  the  bench  come  down  on  the  stage 
among  the  actors." 

"  I  saw  somewhere  that  you  last  appeared  at  Burton's?" 
"  I  tried  to  manage  Burton's,  or  Palmo's,  once,  but  I  lost  money 
and  gave  it  up  in  a  few  weeks." 

"  The  name  of  Mile.  Augusta  was  a  favorite  one  after  you  ?" 
"Yes;   there  was   the  little  Augusta.    Mr.    May  wood's   step- 
daughter, who  went  to   Paris,  where   she   forsook  her  friends,  and 
Mile.  Augusta — Augusta  Rabineau — a  pupil  of  mine." 

"  You  said  your  last  appearance  was  with  Mme.  Bishop.  Did 
you  not  appear  at  the  Metropolitan  afterward  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  that  was  at  a  concert.  It  was  projected  by  General 
Morris  and  other  friends  after  the  death  of  my  husband.  It  was 
m  1855.' 

VIII. 

ACTORS  AND  ACTRESSES. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  the  actors  and  actresses  of  the 
past,  and  while  Mile.  Augusta  had  nothing  new  to  relate  of  an)  oi 
them,  her  talk  was  full  of  pleasant  memories.  Mr.  Simpson  she 
spoke  of  with  enthusiasm  as  a  kindly  gentleman  and  an  honest 
man.  Mrs.  Abbott  she  described  as  a  very  beautiful  woman,  and 
Mrs.  Vernon,  the  sister  of  Clara  Fisher,  she  said  was  an  excellent 
actress.  Of  John  Povey,  the  old  stage  manager,  she  declared,  "  I 
liked  him  so  much." 


16 

IX. 

PORTRAITS. 

''  I  have  a  picture  of  you  which  I  prized  before  I  saw  you,"  the 
interviewer  said.      "  Now  I  see  it  was  not  a  portrait." 

"One  of  those  shop-window  affairs,"  was  the  deprecating  re- 
sponse. "  They  were  not  good.  There  never  was  but  one  picture 
of  me  that  looked  hke  me.      It  is  a  pastel  by  Heidemauer." 

The  accompanying  picture  is  from  the  Heidemauer  pastel. 
It  was  painted  in  1837. 

"  Are  there  any  engraved  portraits  of  you  ?"  the  interviewer 
inquired  as  he  was  about  taking  his  leave. 

"  Only  one  that  I  remember,"  she  answered.  "  It  was  printed 
in  Porter's  Spij^it  of  the  Times.  In  the  same  paper  was  a  picture 
of  the  Black  Maria.  I  had  to  laugh  at  the  company  in  which  I 
found  myself" 

With  the  cheery  smile  which  this  fact  inspired,  the  interviewer 
bowed  himself  out  of  the  apartment. 


I 


MRS.  CHARLES     E.   MORN 


MARY  ANN    HORTON. 


AN  ACTRKSS  AND  SINdhUl  OF  THE  PARK  TUEATllE. 

"  He  was   the  father  of  music  in   this  country,  the  pioneer,  I 
may  say,  of  all  that  was  beautiful  in  the  art  of  the  last  g'eneration." 

The  speaker  was  once  the  wife  of  the  late  Charles  E.  Horn, 
the  celebrated  composer  and  vocalist,  and  was  known  to  the  Eng-- 
lish  and  American  stage  forty  years  ago  as  Miss  f^orton.  She  is 
now  Mrs.  Zust,  and  although  no  longer  young  she  is  still  one  of 
the  most  successful  teachers  of  music  in  this  city.  In  view  of  her 
early  successes  both  as  an  actress  and  a  singer  on  the  stage  of  the 
Park  Theatre,  and  of  the  interesting  reminiscences  she  could  not 
fail  to  possess  as  the  wife  of  the  most  distinguished  composer  who 
ever  found  a  home  in  America,  an  interviewer  of  the  Universe 
called  upon  her  at  her  residence.  No.  39  West  Twelfth  Street,  for 
an  hour's  chat  about  art  and  artists  in  the  past.  Mrs.  Horn,  or 
more  properly  Mrs.  Zust,  had  been  apprised  of  the  interviewer's 
intended  visit,  and  while  she  protested  that  she  had  nothing  inter- 
esting to  communicate,  her  recollections  proved  as  charming  as 
the  melodies  with  which  she  once  delighted  the  fathers  and  grand- 
fathers of  the  present  generation. 


FROM  COVENT  GARDEN  TO  NEW  YORK 

"I  came  to  America  quite  unheralded,"  she  said.  "1)111  in\   suc- 
cess as  the  second    lady  at  Covent  C.anlen  warranled   mc   in  ihc 


18 

undertakino-.  (3n  the  London  sta^re  I  did  whatever  1  was  asked  to 
do,  and  among  other  things  I  was  asked  to  under  study  the  prima 
donna's  part  in  '  Fra  Diavolo,'  in  order  to  replace  Miss  Romer  in 
case  of  ihness.  This  led  me  to  think  that  if  I  could  sing  Zerlina, 
for  another  I  could  do  something  for  myself  In  consequence,  I 
left  Covent  Garden  and  went  to  Paris,  where  I  placed  myself-un- 
der  the  instructions  of  Signor  Bordogni  to  prepare  for  the  operatic 
stacre.  Then  I  came  to  this  country  alone,  my  repertoire  com- 
prising  six  operas — '  Cinderella,'  '  Marriage  of  Figaro,'  '  Love  in  a 
\'illage,'  '  Sonnambula,'  'John  of  Paris,'  and  'Fra  Diavolo.'" 

"What  were  your  favorite  roles?''  the  interviewer  asked. 

"My  great  part,"  she  answered,  "  was  Amina.  I  was  more 
successful  in  that  and  in  Cinderella  than   in  anything  else." 


in. 


ItKCOLLECTWNS  OF  MRS.    WOOD. 


"Cinderella  was  also  a  favorite  part  with  Mrs.  Wood,"  the 
interviewer  suggested. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  quickly.  "  Lady  Lennox,  the  inspired 
idiot,  we  called  her.  She  was  a  great  artist — great  both  as  an  ac  ■ 
tress  and  singer.  She  could  sing  everything,  from  the  simplest 
FZnglish  ballads  to  grand  opera.  Her  voice  was  full,  round  and 
rich.  The  only  artist  I  have  heard  in  recent  years  who  could 
approach  her  as  a  singer  was  Parepa,  and  Parepa  could  not  com- 
pare with  Mrs.  Wood  as  an  actress.  But  she  was  the  most  simple, 
innocent  and  ardess  creature  I  ever  knew.  Her  separation  from 
Lord  \\'illiam  Lennox  caused  a  great  scandal,  but  she  would  have 
it  so.  I  think  she  was  right,  for  she  disliked  Lord  William  very 
much,  and  besides  he  did  not  treat  her  well ;  he  went  to  the  treasury 
every  Saturday  for  her,  to  which  she  was  very  much  averse ;  but 
Mr.  Hartley  and  others  protested  that  her  conduct  with  Mr.  Wood 
was  very  improper.      '  I  must,'  she  answered,  '  I  love  him  so.'  " 

In  her  day  Mrs.  Horn  was  noted  as  a  great  mimic,  both  on 
and  off  the  stage,  and  in  recalling  this  speech  of  the  great  P^nglish 


10 


prima  donna  her  girlhood's  days  came  back  for  a  moment  and  lier 
imitation  of  Mrs.  Wood's  manner  in  voice  and  action  was  perfect. 

"  And  this  reminds  me,"  she  said,  lauL,^hing-  over  the  rec(jllec- 
tion,  "of  an  epigram  of  the  time  which  was  in  ever)lK)dy's  mouth. 
'  She  has  forsaken  her  lord  and  taken  unto  herself  an  idol  of  wood.' 


IV. 


MRS.  HORN'S  AMERTCAN  DEBUT. 


"  Did  you  have  any  difficulty  in  securing'  a  hearmg  in  tliis 
country  ?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"  When  I  applied  at  the  Park  Theatre  for  an  engagement  Mr. 
Simpson  told  me  I  would  have  to  wait  until  the  next  year  for  an 
appearance.  This  led  me  to  make  an  engagement  to  go  to  New 
Orleans,  but  the  New^  York  appearance  came  sooner  than  I  ex- 
pected. Xy.  Forrest  had  just  finished  a  very  fine  season  at  the 
Park  and  the  Keeleys  were  to  follow  him,  but  they  became  fright- 
ened in  consequence  of  his  success  and  refused  to  play.  It  was 
empty  houses  of  which  the  Keeleys  were  afraid,  and  in  this  emer- 
gency Mn  Simpson  came  to  me  and  offered  me  their  time.  I  was 
so  completely  taken  by  surprise  that  I  begged  for  ten  minutes  to 
make  up  my  mind,  and  then  I  answered  '  Yes.' " 

According-  to  Mr.  Ireland's  "  Records  of  the  New'  York  Staoe," 
Miss  Horton  made  her  debut  on  the  i6th  September,  1836,  and 
the  Keeleys  appeared  on  the  19th.  "  Miss  Horton,"  he  says,  "  was 
not  remarkable  either  for  the  brilliancy  of  her  voice  or  execution, 
and  although  a  painstaking  singer  and  in  unpretending  passages 
really  pleasing,  was  inadequate  to  the  position  of  prima  donna." 
Mr  Ireland,  however,  was  not  an  infallible  authority,  for  he  gave 
the  world  Ole  Bull's  obituar)-  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  ami 
Mrs.  Horn  declares  that  she  filled  her  engagement  at  the  Park  to 
overflowing  houses  every  night  and  that  Mr.  Simpson  offered  to 
renew  it. 

"I  could  not  accept  his  offer,"  she  said,  "because  oi  the  New 
Orleans  eneaeement.  That  Southern  venture  was  how  I  came  to 
meet  Mr.  Horn.      He  went  to  New  Orleans  with  mc  as  tc;nor.  but 


20 

the  conipan)-  was  so  bad  that  we  could  not  give  opera.  Instead 
we  crave  concerts,  not  only  in  New  Orleans,  but  in  other  parts  of 
the  South.  On  our  return  to  New  York  I  again  appeared  in  opera. 
My  first  tenor  was  Mr.  Jones,  who  was  a  good  singer,  but  not 
much  of  an  actor  ;  but  now  Mr.  Horn  sung  the  tenor  roles  with 
me.  This  engagement  also  was  very  successful,  and  from  New 
York  we  went  to  Philadelphia,  where  we  produced  '  Don  Giovanni ' 
at  the  Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  under  the  management  of  Mr. 
M— Ma— " 

"Maywood,"  the  interviewer  suggested. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  Mr.  Maywood.  I  always  recall  names 
by  the  aid  of  the  alphabet.      It  is  a  way  with  me." 

"  How  did  )ou  come  to  retire?"  the  interviewer  then  asked. 


V. 

REMINISCENCES  OF  CHARLES  E.  HORN. 

'T  became  afflicted  with  a  very  severe  bronchitis,  and  my  phy- 
sician told  Mr.  Horn  it  would  be  best  to  withdraw  me  from  the 
operatic  stage.  But  I  did  not  withdraw  from  before  the  public 
entirely.  Vor  a  number  of  years  we  gave  concerts,  and  had  the 
concert  field  almost  to  ourselves.  General  Morris  liked  to  write 
the  songs  I  sang  and  ^Ir  Horn  set  them  to  music.  As  a  composer 
Mr.  Horn  was  very  happy.  '  I've  been  Roaming.'  '  Cherry  Ripe,' 
'  Deep,  Deep  Sea,'  and  many  other  songs  of  his  composition,  were 
very  popular.  I  often  wonder  if  they  would  succeed  now  ;  but  the 
public  taste  has  changed  very  much,  and  instrumentation  has  de- 
stroyed melod)-.  I  wish  I  had  a  biography  of  Mr.  Horn,  but  I 
have  not.  He  was  going  to  write  his  life  and  leave  it  for  me  in 
case  of  his  death  ;  but  he  was  a  ver)-  busy  man — a  man  so  full  ot 
ideas  that  he  never  accomplished  it.  He  was  always  working  as 
a  composer.  In  the  street,  if  an  idea  struck  him  he  would  stop  and 
at  once  jot  it  down  in  his  note-book.  After  his  death  it  was  im- 
possible to  find  out  what  was  owing  to  him.  because  even  his  ac- 
count books  were  full  of  music  and  melodies." 

"  He  was  in  .some  kind  of  commercial  business  in  New  York  at 
one  time,  was  he  notV  the  interviewer  asked. 


21 


"  He  began  business  once  as  a  music  publisiier.  I  lis  chief  de- 
s'lgn  was  to  publish  his  own  works,  and  at  first  he  succeeded  ver)- 
well,  but  he  took  a  partner,  who  unintentional!)  ruined  him.  This 
was  Mr.  Davis,  who  came  to  America  as  a  flute  player.  The  firm 
was  known  as  Davis  &  Horn,  but  it  could  not  succeetl,  because 
Mr.  Davis,  although  a  very  nice  man,  was  not  a  business  man,  and 
Mr.  Horn  was  simply  a  composer  and  vocalist.'' 

At  this  point  the  interviewer  brought  Mrs.  Zust's  attention  back 
to  the  subject  with  which  the  inter\'iew  opened — the  importance 
ol  Mr.  Horn's  services  to  music  in  this  country. 

"  You  way  well  speak  thus  highl)-  of  him,''  she  said,  referring 
to  the  tribute  to  his  memory  conveyed  in  the  interviewer's  words. 
"  His  efforts  to  encourage  music  in  America  were  not  only  ver)' 
important,  but  they  were  entirely  unselfish.  Often,  when  I  told 
him  that  a  concert  he  was  projecting  would  prove  a  bad  specula- 
tion, he  would  say,  'We  may  lose  a  little  money,  but  then  it  is  the 
right  sort  of  thing,  and  we  must  do  something  for  the  rising  gener- 
ation.' Our  German  brethren  would  not  like  to  acknowledire  it 
now,  perhaps,  but  Mr.  Horn  was  the  leading  spirit  in  the  forma- 
tion of  their  Philharmonic  Society.  That  organization  owes  its 
existence  to  him  and  three  others — Mr.  Rosier,  Mr.  l^.  C.  Hill 
('Upper  Canada  Hill')  and  my  brother-in-law,  Henry  C.  Tinun, 
the  'Amiable  Timm,'  as  he  was  called.  Mr.  Horn  was,  besides, 
director  of  the  Boston  IJandel  and  Ilaydn  Society  for  some  years, 
and  while  he  was  a  professor  in  the  London  Polytechnic,  one  of  his 
lectures  was  on  music  in  America.  It  was  very  humorous.  He 
was  very  fond  of  the  Americans  and  did  everything  he  could  to 
give  character  to  the  love  of  music  in  this  country.  He  took  great 
pleasure  in  illustrating  in  England  everything  American  that  was 
original  and  characteristic,  and  he  even  had  me  sing  my  '  Sweep 
Song 'in  Liverpool  and  other  places.  It  produced  a  great  sen- 
sation." 


VI. 

rirE  ''SWEEP  SONG." 

"What  was  your  'Sweep  Song'?"  the  interviewer  asked. 
A  ringing  laugh  greeted  the  inquir)-. 


22 

"  It  was  the  cry  of  a  New  York  sweep,"  she  then  repHed. 

"A  negro  sweep?" 

"  Yes.  I  heard  it,  and  General  Morris  wrote  the  words  to 
o-o  with  it.  It  was  proposed  to  adapt  it,  as  the  phrase  now  is,  but 
I  said,  '  Not  one  note  in  it  must  be  changed;  it  is  perfect  as  it  is.' 
Mr.  Massett  was  very  anxious  that  I  should  sing  it  in  public,  but 
at  first  I  declined,  because  I  did  not  think  it  in  keeping  with  white 
satin.  One  ni^ht  I  was  at  a  concert  and  ball  at  the  Apollo  Assembly 
Rooms  with  Mr.  Horn.  I  would  never  consent  to  sing  at  a  con- 
cert where  there  was  to  be  a  ball,  because  the  music  would  go  for 
nothing,  but  on  this  evening  Mr.  Horn  said  to  me,  '  Now  is  your 
time,  if  you  are  ever  going  to  tr)-  it.'  I  agreed,  and  sang  the  cry 
without  any  announcement  The  people  were  very  much  sur- 
prised and  looked  up  as  if  there  was  a  sweep  somewhere  in  the 
roof,  and  it  was  onl)-  when  I  repeated  it  that  they  knew  where  it 
came  from.  One  of  m)-  pupils  was  present  and  protested  that  I 
must  never  sing  if  again,  but  my  husband  said,  '  Don't  you  see 
the  people  like  it '?'  " 

The  scribe  was  half  inclined  to  ask  the  lady  to  sing  it  then  and 

there. 

"The  last  time  I  ever  sang  it  in  public,"  she  continued,  "was 
for  Mr.  Brougham's  benefit  at  Brougham's  Lyceum.  On  that  oc- 
casion Mary  Taylor  asked  me  to  teach  her  how  to  sing  it,  and  I 
did,  but  Mrs.  Brougham  became  very  indignant  when  Mary  at- 
tempted it.  '  It  is  all  right,'  I  said,  '  I  taught  her.'  Mr.  Brougham 
wrote  a  stanza  to  introduce  it — 

1  wish  I  was  in  New  York  City, 

Eating  of  hot  corn. 
And  listening  to  that  lovely  ditty 

Fung  by  Mrs.  Horn — 

and  then  Mrs.  Brougham's  anger  was  appeased.  Mary  Taylor  in- 
troduced it  into  '  Jenny  Lind  at  Last,'  and  sang  it  for  a  long  time 
afterward," 

VII. 

GENKUA  I.  (iEOIWK  P.  MORRIS. 

"Did  not  General  Morris  attempt  something  more  ambitious 
in  conjunction  with  Mr.  Horn  than  the  words  for  your  husband's 
songs  ?"  the  interviewer  inc^uired. 


23 

"  He  wrote  the  libretto  for  the  '  Maid  of  Saxoii),'  the  hist 
opera  which  AFr.  Horn  produced.  This  was  in  1842.  Mrs. 
Seguin  was  sing^in^'  at  the  Park  at  the  time  and  was  to  have  un- 
dertaken the  heroine,  but  she  was  seiz(;d  with  a  severe  cokl,  and 
so  I  was  compelled  to  come  out  of  my  retirement  and  sing  it." 

Mr.  Ireland  says  of  this  work  that  it  had  sf)me  i)l('asin^-  melo- 
dies, and  would  have  had  a  long  run  if  it  had  been  produced  ])re- 
vious  to  the  euijaLrement  of  Mr.  SeLTuin. 


VIIT. 


.1    DISCO  VERY. 


"  By  the  way,"  said  Mrs.  Zust,  as  the  interviewer  was  on  the 
point  of  taking  his  leave,  "  I  have  just  had  a  letter  from  Stephen 
Massett.  He  will  return  to  America  in  a  few  months,  but  his 
letter  was  especially  interesting  to  me  because  he  has  just  dis- 
covered a  grandniece  of  mine  on  the  stage  at  Covent  Garden. 
This  is  Miss  Orridge ;  and  a  cutting  from  Punch,  which  Mr. 
Massett  enclosed  to  me,  calls  her  '  a  rich  and  rare  specimen  of  the 
pretty  contralto.'  The  manner  in  which  he  learned  of  the  rela- 
tionship was  peculiar.  He  was  in  the  habit,  he  writes  me,  of 
dealing  at  a  fruiterer's  in  London  where  the  woman  in  attendance 
struck  him  as  bearintr  a  strikincf  resemblance  to  me.  He  told  her 
one  day  that  she  looked  very  much  like  a  lady  he  knew  in  America 
whose  name  in  England  was  Mary  Ann  Horton.  'Why,  she's  my 
aunt,'  was  the  answer  She  is  the  daughter  of  one  of  my  brothers, 
and  it  is  her  daughter  of  whom  he  sends  me  such  favorable  ac- 
counts  as  a  singer  and  actress." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  great  pleasure  to  you  to  learn  that  the 
musical  and  dramatic  instinct  in  your  family  had  been  preserved 
in  this  unexpected  way*?"  the  interviewer  said. 

"  It  was,"  she  replied,  "  because  we  were  a  musical  family,  and 
to  me  it  was  especially  gratifying,  because  I  was  the  first  ot  them 
who  ever  did  anything.  My  parents  were  Calvinists.  and  in  our 
youth  none  of  us  were  ever  allowed  to  go  near  a  theatre;  but  I  was 
always  determined  to  adopt  the  stage  as  a  profession.      Whrn  m\- 


24 


father,  who  was  extensively  eng-aged  as  a  manufacturuig  jeweller, 
became  embarrassed,  I  was  able  to  gratity  my  wish,  and  b\-  that 
means  to  do  something  for  his  support  and  toward  the  education 
of  my  sisters.  Two  of  them,  who  are  younger  than  I  am,  became 
distino-uished  artists.     Mrs.  Timm  came  to  America  before  I  did. 

o 

She  was  a  great  favorite  at  Mitchell's  01)'mpic  and  died  in  this, 
city  many  years  ago.  My  other  sister,  now  Mrs.  German  Reed, 
as  Priscilla  Horton  occupied  a  high  position  at  Covent  Garden  at 
the  time  I  left  London,  and  although  she  has  retired,  her  name  is 
one  that  is  still  familiar  to  theatre  goers.  She  has  never  been  in 
America,  but  her  reputation  has  crossed  the  Atlantic  nevertheless. 
I  have  watched  her  career  with  interest,  and  that  of  the  many 
artists  who  have  appeared  since  my  first  connection  with  the  stage  ; 
for,  although  1  have  long  been  retired  from  the  public  gaze,  I  have 
never  lost  mv  interest  in  music  and  the  drama." 


CORNELIUS     MATHEWS. 


CORNELIUS    MATHEWS. 


I. 

AN  OLD   I'LA  YWUlajfT. 


"It  is  a  lono-  time  since  I  wrote  for  the  stage,"  said  Mr. 
Cornelius  Mathews,  in  conversation  with  an  interviewer  from  tlie 
Universe,  "  but  my  memory  is  clear  in  ret^ard  to  the  period  in 
which  I  took  an  active  interest  in  theatrical  affairs." 


II. 

JOE   CO  WELL. 


"There  are  some  reasons,  however,"  he  continued,  "why  1 
should  speak  of  my  own  plays  with  reserve — business  reasons,  1 
may  sa)— but  in  so  far  as  I  feel  at  liberty  to  talk  about  them  I  shall 
do  so  with  pleasure.  Although  I  was  a  very  young-  man  when 
I  first  began  to  write,  I  was  a  very  active  one,  and  my  acquaintance 
was  extensive,  both  among  the  theatrical  profession  and  in  business 
circles.  As  an  instance  of  this,  and  an  indication  of  the  period 
into  which  I  am  about  to  take  you,  I  must  tell  you  of  a  tall,  clerical- 
looking  gentleman  who  once  called  on  me  with  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction asking  me  to  assist  him  in  procuring  a  publisher  for  his 
book.  The  man  was  Joe  Cowell  and  the  book  his  '  Thirty  Years 
Among  the  Players.'  " 

A  look  of  astonishment  was  the  interviewer's  answer,  for  Mr. 
Cowell's  work  was  published  as  long  ago  as  1846.  It  is  now  out 
of  print,  and  although  published  at  only  twenty-five  cents  it  is 
worth  five  times  that  sum. 

"  I  read  the  letter,"  Mr.  Mathews  said,  "  and  as  it  came  from  a 
friend  I  was  anxious  to  oblige,  I  expressed  my  willingness  to  do 
anything  in  my  power.  *  How  large  an  edition  do  you  intend 
printing,  Mr.  Cowell?'!  asked.  'Ten  thousand.'  he  answered. 
'  Is  not  that  very  large  for  a  theatrical  work  ?'  I  inquired.  '  Oh.  no,' 
he  replied,  confidendy  ;  '  everybody  knows  Joe  Cowell.  W'h)-.  I 
can  sell  two  hundred  copies  at  the  Park  Theatre.'  It  is  true  every- 
body did  know  Joe  Cowell ;  he  was  a  great  favorite  in  his  da}-,  but 
I  was  curious  to  know  how  many  copies  of  his  book  he  sold  at  the 
Park  Theatre,  and  so  after  it  had  been  published  some  time  I 
asked  him  the  question.      'One,'  was  his  answer." 


2G 

III. 

SIMPSOIi  AND  BABIiY. 

From  Cowell  to  Simpson  the  transition  was  easy. 

"Mr,  Simpson  was  a  peculiar  man,''  said  Mr.  Mathews.  "  He 
always  dressed  in  black,  and  his  face  looked  as  if  it  had  been  cut 
out  of  a  board.  But  he  was  a  very  amiable  person.  I  remember 
meeting  him  once  at  Mr.  Barry's  house  in  Marion  Street  with  Mrs. 
Simpson,  where  they  had  gone  for  their  customar)-  rubber  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barry.  The  Simpsons  and  Barrys  were  great  friends. 
I  believe  their  friendship  was  cemented  through  a  common  misfor- 
tune, Mr.  Simpson  and  Mrs.  Barry  having  been  once  precipitated 
down  a  trap  at  the  Park  Theatre  and  seriously  injured.  It  was 
through  Mr.  Barry  that  one  of  my  plays  was  written.'' 

"  How  was  that  ?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"  It  was  when  he  undertook  the  management  of  the  Boston 
Theatre.  He  asked  me  to  write  a  comedy  for  his  opening,  which 
I  consented  to  do,  after  some  persuasion.  When  the  theatre 
opened  it  was  with  a  dramatization  of  '  Norma  '  instead.  I  never 
knew  the  reason  it  was  not  accepted,  but  it  probably  was  because 
a  New  York  author  would  be  likely  to  prove  about  as  acceptable 
to  a  Boston  audience,  on  the  opening  of  a  new  theatre,  as  Halleck 
puts  it,  as  '  Gabriel  to  the  devil  in  paradise.'" 


IV. 

' '  FALSE  PRETENVES. " 

"What  was  done  with  the  piece?"  the  interviewer  inquired. 

"  I  showed  it  to  Mr.  Burton  when  he  was  managing  the  theatre 
in  Chambers  Street.     lie  produced  it  with  decided  success." 

"  Was  it  '  False  Pretences  '  ?" 

"You  may  guess,  and  if  you  guess  right  it's  all  right,"  Mr. 
Mathews  answered,  laughing. 

"  Well,  then,  I  guess  yes,"  the  interviewer  replied. 

"False  Pretences"  is  a  comedy  intended  to  present  a  picture 
of  both  sides  of  New  York  society.  Jaclyb  Millcdollar,  a  bank 
president,  and  jldaui   Crockery,  a  merchant,   are  brothers-in-law. 


27 

Fiank  Whittcmore,  a  young  lawyer,  is  tlieir  nephew.  Mrs.  Millc- 
dollar  and  her  daughter,  Florence,  and  Mrs  Crockery  and  her 
daughter,  Eva,  are  the  social  contrasts.  There  is  besides  a 
sprightly  widow,  Mrs.  GoIdc?i,  and  other  subordinate  characters, 
who  will  be  recoenized  from  their  names — Peter  Funk,  determined 
to  become  a  millionaire  ;  Dr.  Crane,  a  dining-out  physician  ;  M. 
Boquct,  a  French  barber,  who  is  mistaken  1)>'  the  Millcdollars  for 
a  French  nobleman;  and  Mr.  Berry  man,  a  sexton,  whose  proto- 
type would  be  readily  recognized  even  by  the  present  generation. 
The  plot  hinges  on  a  contest  over  a  will  and 'oscillates  between 
the  failure  of  Crockery  in  the  first  act  and  of  Milledollar  in  the 
last.  Burton  played  Ferryman  and  Mrs.  Burton  the  widow.  Mrs. 
C.  R.  Thorne  was  Mrs.  Milledollar,  and  Miss  Emily  Thorne  and 
-Miss  Kate  Reignolds  were  the  juveniles.  The  comedy  was  pro- 
duced December  3,  1S56,  and  scored  a  success,  as  well  it  might, 
for  it  was  really  a  very  clever  satire  on  New  York  society. 

"  Mr.  Burton  accepted  the  piece  without  hesitation,"  Mr. 
Mathews  said,  "with  the  remark  that  any  one  who  thought  it  was 
not  a  good  comedy  did  not  know  what  a  good  comedy  was." 


V. 

FOURIER  QRISLEY. 

"Was  this  the  only  play  of  yours  produced  at  Burton's 
Theatre  ?"  the  interviewer  inquired,  anxious  to  obtain  a  solution 
to  the  question  of  the  authorship  of  a  piece  called  "  Socialism,"  in 
which,  as  Fourier  Grisley,  John  Brougham  "made  up"  in  exact 
imitation  of  Horace  Greeley. 

"There  was  another,  a' political  satire,  which  they  were  afraid 
to  produce  at  the  Park  because  of  its  local  hits,"  Mr  Mathews 
answered,  "but  T  would  prefer  to  say  nothing  about  it." 


VI. 

' '  BROAD  WA  r  Am)  THE  BO  WEB  Y. " 

"  About  the  time  you  speak  of  local  pieces  antl  pieces  con- 
taining local  allusions  were  very  popular,  were  the)  not  ?"  the 
interviewer  asked. 


2<S  • 

"I  can  best  answer  your  question,"  Mr.  Mathews  said,  "by 
telling  you  my  experience  with  Brougham.  Some  time  after  he 
had  forsaken  Brougham's  Lyceum,  in  Broadway,  he  went  over  to 
the  Old  Bowery  for  a  while.  He  was  living  in  Mercer  Street  at 
the  time,  and  I  called  on  him  at  his  rooms  and  offered  him  a 
tragedy.  '  Now\  if  you  had  a  local  play,  Mr.  Mathews,'  he  said, 
*I  might  do  something  with  it.'  'Ah,  that's  where  you  are,  Mr. 
Brougham,'  I  answered,  and  putting  my  hand  in  another  pocket, 
I  drew  out  what  he  wanted,  and  offered  it  to  him.  He  looked 
over  it  then  and  there  and  said,  '  1  will  produce  that," 

"And  he  did  it?" 

"  Yes." 

"What  was  it  called  ?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

The  dramatist  only  answered  with  a  sad  smile,  as  if  he  dared 
not  recall  the  names  of  his  deceased  children.  It  may  be  remarked, 
how^ever,  that  this  drama  was  called  "  Broadway  and  the  Bowery," 
and  that  Mr.  Brougham  played  the  leading  role. 

"The  author  was  called  for,"  Mr.  Mathews  said,  wath  a  twinkle 
of  satisfaction  in  his  beaming  eyes,  "and  I  was  compelled  to  rise 
and  express  the  pleasure  I  felt  in  pleasing  my  audience.'' 

"Was  this  the  first  time  you  submitted  your  dramatic  work  to- 
the  judgment  of  the  Bowery  pit?"  the  interviewer  inquired. 

"  By  no  means,"  was  the  reply.  "Years  before  the  date  of 
which  I  am  speaking — 1856 — ^a  dramatic  sketch,  based  on  a  chapter 
in  a  novel  I  had  written,  made  a  hit  there  so  great  that  it  made 
the  reputation  of  one  of  our  best  known  living  actors,  and  was  the 
means  of  supplying  the  capital  for  one  of  the  most  famous  theatres 
this  cit)-  has  e\er  had." 

'*Tell  me  all  about  it,"  the  interviewer  said,  with  interest. 


VII. 

(lUA  NFRA  I  ^'S  ' '  M(>SK  " 


"Well,  you  see,''  was  the  slow  and  deliberate  response,  "when 
I  was  a  young  man  I  occasionally  met  in  the  loljby  of  the  Park 
Theatre  a  good-looking  lad — a  ship  carpenter — who,  I  thought, 
was  destined  for  better  things  That  was  Frank  Chanfrau.  He 
found  his  wa)-  to  the  stage  first  as  a  supernumerary,  and  before 


29 

lono-,  at  Mitchell's  Olympic,  almost  by  accident,  he  hounded  into 
prominence  and  reputation.  Mr.  leaker,  the  j)rompter,  for  his 
benefit,  produced  a  local  sketch  founded  on  the  nineteenth  chapter 
of  my  story,  which  he  called  'New  York  in  1848.'  It  was  in 
this  that  the  fire  laddy  now  so  famous  as  AIosc  was  introduced. 
Chanfrau  was  given  the  part,  and,  as  he  was  a  member  of  the  old 
fire  department,  in  which  I  also  held  honorar)-  membership,  he 
played  it  to  perfection.  So  great  was  his  success  that  the  drama, 
*  A  Glance  at  New  York,'  grew  out  of  it  and  had  a  run  of  seventy 
nights  at  the  Olympic,  besides  being  produced  at  the  Bowery  and 
all  over  the  country.  Another  piece,  '  New^  York  As  It  Is,'  was 
built  around  the  same  part  and  produced  at  the  Bower)-  Theatre 
about  the  same  time,  Mr.  Chanfrau  playing  Mose,  of  course." 

VIII. 

BURTOirS. 

"  But  Mitchell's  Olympic  and  the  Bowery  were  both  famous 
long  before  either  Chanfrau  or  '  Mosc '  was  heard  of,"  the  inter- 
viewer said,  wondering  where  the  capital  that  founded  a  theatre 
came  in. 

"  It  was  Burton's  I  meant,"  Mr.  Mathews  said,  smiling  placidl)- 
at  the  look  of  incredulity  with  which  the  statement  was  received. 
"  Mr.  Burton  had  been  struggling  along  in  Philadelphia  for  a  good 
many  years — working  hard  and  making  little  or  no  money.  Stimu- 
lated by  Chanfrau's  success,  he  brought  out  '  Mose '  under  the 
name  of '  Jakey.'  The  result  was  that  he  cleared  $6,000  by  the 
venture.  This  money  enabled  him  to  take  Palmo's  in  Chambers 
Street,  and  so  you  see  that  little  sketch  of  mine  not  onl)'  made  an 
actor  of  Chanfrau,  but  it  brouofht  William  E.  Burton  to  New  York 
and  gave  us  Burton's  Theatre." 

"  This  is  indeed  remarkable,"  the  interviewer  said,  and  the 
dramatist  only  replied  with  a  look  of  satisfaction  which  beamed 
over  his  whole  face. 

IX. 

JAMES  E.  MVUDOrn. 

•'Another  actor,  even  more  celebrated  than  "Slv  Chanfrau,  was 
identified  with  your  earlier  successes  as  a  dramatist?"  th(?  inter- 
viewer suggested. 


30 

"  Mr.  Murdoch,  )'es." 

"  How  long  have  you  known  him  V 

"All  his  life,  almost.  When  he  came  to  New  York  he  first 
appeared  as  a  reader,  and  I  did  everything"  in  my  power  to  serve 
him.  He  made  his  debut  at  the  Park  Theatre  as  Hamlet,  and 
there  also  I  sous^ht  to  advance  his  fortunes.  I  have  sometimes 
thought  my  friendship  for  him  was  too  marked,  as  it  created  jeal- 
ousies which  miorht  have  been  avoided." 


X. 

"  WITCIIOUAFT." 

"  In  which  of  your  tragedies  did  he  first  appear?" 

"  As  Gideon  BodisJi  in  '  Witchcraft.'  It  was  first  produced  in 
Philadelphia,  and  was  brought  out  at  the  Bowery  Theatre,  New 
York,  May  17,  1847.  The  most  brilliant  audience  seen  in  the 
Bowery  since  the  fashionable  days  of  Mrs.  Gilfert  was  present  at 
Murdoch's  benefit  in  this  play.  It  met  with  great  favor  both  in 
Philadelphia  and  here,  and  Mr.  Murdoch  subsequently  played  at 
the  National  Theatre  in  Boston,  where  Mr.  Clapp  says,  in  his 
'  Record  of  the  Boston  Stage,'  it  was  received  with  unbounded  ap- 
plause. Speaking  of  its  production  in  Cincinnati  afterward,  the 
same  writer  adds,  'The  press  of  that  city  spoke  of  it  in  unequi- 
vocal terms,  and  in  this  city  it  was  received  with  flattering  marks 
of  approbation  by  the  press  and  the  public' " 

"  Was  it  ever  published  *?" 

"  It  was  reviewed  in  London  and  translated  into  French  by  the 
celebrated  Philarete  Chasles,  Professor  in  the  Imperial  University, 
an  honor  never  before  extended  to  any  American  work  of  the 
kind." 

XI. 

"JACOB  LEISLER." 

"Where  was  '  Jacob  Leisler  '  first  produced  ?" 
"  In    Philadelphia  also.      It  was  pla)ed   in   New  York  May  8, 
1848.     The  cast  was  an  excellent  one.      Air.  Murdoch  was  Jacob 
Lcislcr,  g{  coxxxsv.,   and   Mrs.  IMiillips  Mrs.  Lcis/cr.     I))ott  played 


31 

Luke  Miidurnc,  W.  Marshall  Brcckholsl  I  'cnnilyca,  Charles  Ikirke, 
the  half  brother  of  Joseph  Jefferson,  Eusion  Jost  Stoli  and  Mrs. 
Abbott  Frauccsca  Baxcxrd  These  are  names  that  are  unknown 
to  most  theatre  goers  at  this  da)-,  but  the)-  were  strong,  sturdy 
actors,  different  in  every  way  from  the  spindle-shanks  interpreters 
of  the  drama  we  now  see  on  the  stage." 

"  How  was  the  interpretation  as  a  picture  of  the  New  York  of 
1690^ 

''  The  play  itself  w^as  faithful  to  the  era,  but  1  was  not  satisfied 
with  the  representation.  Mr.  Murdoch,  although  a  splendid  elocu- 
tionist, had  not  force  enouij^h  for  Lcislcr.  I  wanted  him  to  dress 
the  part  with  close  cropped  hair,  inclining  to  curl,  and  the  s(|uare- 
cut  clothes  of  the  old  Dutch  merchants.  Instead,  he  wore  his  hair 
lone  and  flowing,  and  he  dressed  in  the  robes  which  belom^  to  the 
romantic  drama.  The  result  was  that  he  not  only  lacked  power 
in  the  impassioned  passages,  but  he  failed  to  look  the  part.  He 
was  too  young — scarcely  older  in  appearance  than  his  son-in-law, 
Milbourne." 

"  Was  '  Leisler  '  published  ?'' 

"Never;  indeed  none  of  my  plays  was  ever  [published, 
although  most  of  them  were  printed  for  convenience  in  dealing  with 
managers.  I  have  kept  all  of  them,  and  during  the  last  few  years 
I  have  gone  over  them  carefully,  giving  them  such  touches  as  they 
seemed  to  require.  I  have  done  this  with  all  of  them  except 
'  Leisler,'  which  somehow  did  not  seem  to  need  au)-  touching  up." 

"  Do  you  contemplate  reproducing  them  ?"  the  interviewer  in- 
quired, but  on  this  subject  Mr.  Mathews  declined  to  say  anything. 


xir. 

THE  "  PROMPT ERr 

"  You  were  also  at  one  time  the  editor  of  a  dramatic  periodical  ?" 
"  Yes.  It  was  called  the  Prompter.  Only  four  numbers  were 
printed,  when  a  misunderstanding  with  the  publisher  caused  it  to 
be  discontinued.  The  whole  edition  of  each  number  was  sold,  and. 
except  my  own  cop)-,  I  do  not  know  of  another  perfect  one  in 
existence.  I  wrote  about  actors  and  dramatists  with  absolute  inde- 
pendence in  those  days.  I  remember  I  was  particularly  severe 
upon  Forrest,  but  I  fear  I  was  not  altogether  just." 


32 


In  talkii\^^  with  its  editor,  still  a  well-preserved  and  sprightly 
gentlemaji,  the  past  was  brought  up  almost  as  vividly  as  the  living 
present,  but  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  this  excellent  and 
scholarly  old  man,  whose  name  is  now  almost  if  not  entirely  un- 
known in  the  theatres  of  New  York,  was  in  fact  the  most  promising 
and  successful  American  dramatist  of  the  last  generation. 


XoTt:.— Mr.  Matlifws  "  still  lives,'  and  has  now  in  liiuul.  as  the  ivsult  of  the  last  three 
or  four  years,  the  following  productions,  the  best  work,  it  is  believed,  of  his  life  :  anew 
editiouof  the  tragedy  of  "  Witchcraft,"  revised  and  strengthened  especiallrin  the  characters 
of  Ainhhi  Bodish.  the  aged  heroine,  and  her  young  sou  Gideon  Bodish  :  the  comedy  of  "  False 
Pretences"  (under  a  new  name),  modernized,  condensed,  the  entire  tifth  act  re-written;  a 
live  act  tragedy  never  performed,  originally  written  for  and  accepted  by  Edwin  Forrest,  the 
MS.  taken  by  him  to  Loudon  on  his  last  visit,  with  the  intention  to  produce  it  there.      But 
;Mr.  Forrest's  complications,  arising  out  of  his  quarrel  with  Macready,  made  an  engagement 
impracticable,  and  he  returned  to  America  witliout  appearing  again  on  the  British  stage. 
From  that  time  to  the  day  of  his  death  Forrest  never  appeared  in  a  new  part.     The  fourth 
piece  is  a  new  comedy  in  tive  acts  and  seven  tableaux,  written  within  the  last  year,  which, 
to  bring  it  home  to  popular  apprehension,  may  be  described,  although  entirely  dilfcrent  in 
plan  and  treatment,  as  parallel  in  character,  and  as  running  in  what  is  now  a  favorite  chan- 
nel of  public  amusement,  with  "  Deacon  Crankett."    To  these  as  the  product  of  the  recent 
labora  of  Mr.  Mathews  are  to  be  added  three  operas  or  opera  libretti.      The  tirst  a  romantic 
comic  opera  in  three  acts,  Avith  an  original  subject  and  great  novelty  in  its  handling  and 
details.     The  second  libretto  is  a  two-act  musical  extravaganza  of  broad  fun,  and  inclining 
discreetly  to  burles(iue  and  satire.     The  lirst  of  these  is  now  in  the  hands  of  a  distinguished 
composer  to  be  equipped  with  proper  music.      The  third  work  of  this  kind  is  an  heroic, 
national,  patriotic  opera  in  two  acts,  remarkable  for  its  melodious  and  lyric  language  and 
rhythm.     To  this  the  piano  .score  has  been  made,  exhibiting,  as  experts  have  pronounced, 
the  best  music  of  its  kind  ever  written  in  America.     These  dramas  and  libretti  are  all  in  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Mathews,  and  we  can  assert,  of  our  own  ac(iu:iintanc('  with  them,  that  they 
constitute  a  valuable  property  for  immediate   and  profitable  use  in  the   way  of  public 
amusement. — American  Art  Journal. 


■  f^- 


»**^%      ,#**"- 


^^ 


^#*:^ 


1* 


"iS-n. 


^ 


'■•^i^ 


Vs. 


>^,. 


/ 


HERR      CLINE. 


HERR     CLINE. 


A  FAMOUS  ROPE  DANCER. 

An  old  man  recently  sought  and  obtained  admission  to  the 
Forrest  House  who  in  his  day  was  the  most  remarkable  performer 
on  the  elastic  cord  ever  known  either  before  or  since.  In  his  youth 
he  was  unrivaled  for  grace  and  dexterity  and  daring,  and  he  grew 
rich  while  he  was  still  almost  a  boy.  Now  he  walks  with  the  slow 
and  measured  tread  which  bespeaks  his  almost  four  score  years, 
and  he  is  so  poor  that  he  is  dependent  upon  others  for  the  bread 
he  eats.  This  is  the  venerable  John  Cline — Seiltanzer  Herr  Cline, 
"as  he  was  called — who  fs  coldly  described  by  the  dramatic  historians 
as  "  the  best  rope  dancer  seen  in  this  country  before  the  advent  of 
the  Ravels,"  and  being  long  forgotten  is  written  about  as  if  he 
was  lone  dead.  As  a  man,  Herr  Cline  is  well  known  to  the  actors 
of  the  present  generation,  but  few  of  them  know  of  his  great  fame 
as  a  performer,  and  the  younger  men  in  the  profession,  who  have 
seen  him  only  quiedy  sipping  his  toddy  of  sherry  at  the  Criterion, 
are  apt  to  regard  the  reports  of  his  youthful  achievements  as  among 
the  semi -myths  which  figurative  writers  ha\'e  invented  to  adorn 
the  annals  of  the  stage.  Herr  Cline  is  not  a  German,  as  his  designa- 
tion would  suggest,  but  so  unmistakably  English  that  he  cannot 
even  pronounce  his  chosen  professional  title — Seiltanzer — with 
the  Teutonic  flavor  which  makes  it  apt  as  well  as  descrij^tive.  But 
his  mind  is  a  fund  cf  dramatic  memorabilia,  and  when  he  talks  ol 
the  past  every  sentence  which  falls  from  his  lips  is  rich  with  pleasing 
recollections. 


34 

11. 

ENGAGED  FOR  AMERICA. 

"  I  went  to  the  Vauxhall  Garden  in  London  by  appointment 
one  night,"  Herr  CHne  said  in  reference  to  a  query  of  the  inter- 
viewer, "  and  there  in  a  private  box  I  was  asked  on  behalf  of  Mr. 
Gilfert,  the  Manager  of  the  Bowery  Theatre,  for  my  terms  for  an 
American  engagement.  '  Two  thousand  pounds  for  a  year,'  I  said. 
It  was  a  large  sum,  especially  in  those  days,  but  I  would  not  take 
less,  and  in  a  few  months  it  was  settled  that  I  was  to  come  out  on 
my  own  terms.  I  came,  and  although  that  was  more  than  fiity 
years  ago,  I  am,  as  you  see,  still  here." 

"  In  what  year  was  that?"  the  interviewer  asked. 
"  In  1828,"  Herr  Cline  answered.      "  If  I  had  my  bills  by  me  I 
could  give  you  the  exact  date  of  my  first   appearance  at   the   old 
Bowery.    It  was  in  the  Spring — in  May,  I  think — and  only  a  week 
or  ten  days  before  the  theatre  was  burnt.     The  fire  took  place  on 
the  nieht  of  Mrs.  Gilfert's  benefit,  I  remember.     She  was  a  great 
actress  and  the  whole  company  was  very  strong.     The  Bowery 
Theatre  at  that  time  took  the  lead  in  everything,  and  although  Mr. 
Gilfert's  loss  by  the  destruction  of  the  house  was  very  heavy,  it 
did  not  have  the  effect  of  annulling  my  contract.      I  was  idle  for  a 
short  time,  it  is  true,  but  only  for  a  few  weeks,  for  I  appeared   at 
Niblo's  Garden  in  midsummer  and  then  visited  Albany  and  other 
■  cities  while  the  new  Bowery  was  rebuilding.   Altogether  my  engage- 
ment, lasted  three  years  and  I  earned  $30,000  under  the  terms  of 
my  first  American  contract." 
"  What  did  you  do  then '^" 

"  I  starred,  with  my  brother  Andre  Cline  as  my  business  man- 
ager and  stage  assistant.  I  went  everywhere,  and  everywhere  I 
was  esteemed  as  a  great  favorite.  In  those  days  I  made  a  great 
deal  of  money — once  I  made  a  thousand  dollars  in  a  single  night ; 
but  now  in  my  old  age — you  would  not  care  to  hear  it,  I  know,  and 
I  do  not  care  to  trouble  you  with  it— but  now  in  m)-  old  age  I  am 
very  poor,  indeed." 


35 

III. 
I.OSSES. 

'  But  T  do  care  to  hear  it,"  the  interviewer  urged — "that  is,  I 
care  to  hear  it  from  your  own  hps,  for  I  am  well  aware  your  mis- 
fortunes were  not  the  result  of  any  fault  on  your  part." 

"That  is  true,"  Herr  Cline  said.  "Sixty  thousand  dollars 
went  at  one  time  in  the  failure  of  the  United  States  Bank,  and 
then  there  were  other  losses  and  misfortunes  one  after  the  other, 
which  left  me  in  the  end  a  poor  man,  lUit  my  greatest  loss  was 
in  the  death  of  my  wife  a  year  ago.  She  had  been  my  companion 
in  life  for  fifty  years,  and  now  I  am  not  only  poor,  but  utterly  alone 
in  the  world." 

A  tear  forced  itself  out  of  a  corner  of  the  old  man's  eye  and  he 
turned  away  for  a  moment  to  conceal  his  emotion. 


IV. 

AEl'  ON  THE  ELASTIC  CORD. 

"  I  am  well  aware,"  the  interviewer  said,  as  much  to  detract  the 
old  man's  thouo-hts  as  to  erain  the  information  asked  for,  '•  that  for 
many  years  you  were  unequaled  in  your  own  line.  Will  you  kindly 
explain  the  special  characteristics  which  made  your  performances 
so  generally  admired  ?" 

"  Whatever  favor  I  received,"  was  Herr  Cline's  response,  "was 
due  to  the  fact  that  I  was  not  a  rope  dancer  merely,  but  an  artist. 
All  my  acts  were  artistic.  I  did  not  simply  exhibit  dangerous 
feats,  but  performed  them  in  character,  dancing  to  music  specially 
composed  for  each  act.  In  this  way  I  managed  to  give  as  much 
variety  to  my  appearances  as  if  I  had  been  an  actor  or  a  singer. 
While  my  acts  were  in  themselves  always  the  same,  each  act  was  a 
distinct  creation,  differing  from  anything  else  that  T  did.  To  this 
variety  as  much  as  to  my  skill   and  daring  were  my  success  and 


36 

long  continued  favor  owing.  It  has  been  a  good  many  years,  how- 
ever, since  I  ventured  on  the  rope,  my  final  retirement  from  the 
stage  taking  place  in  1862  " 

"Where  did  you  last  appear V" 

"  Somewhere  in  Canada — I  really  forget  the  town — with  Daddy 
Rice." 

V. 

BENEFlTt^. 

In  the  course  of  his  lontr  career  Merr  Cline  had  his  share  of 
benefits,  of  which  at  least  two  are  historic.  One  of  these  was 
announced  as  his  farewell  and  took  place  at  Burton's  Theatre, 
New  York,  on  the  20th  of  January,  1849.  In  this  he  had  the 
assistance  of  John  R.  Scott,  C.  W.  Clarke,  C.  M.  Walcot,  George 
Holland  and  F.  vS.  Chanfrau.  But  one  which  took  place  in  Phila- 
delphia more  than  twenty  years  before,  is  even  more  interesting 
and  has  a  story  behind  it  which  is  worth  the  telling  In  November, 
1828,  the  Elder  Wallack  was  engaged  for  the  Arch  Street  Theatre 
at  the  rate  of  $200  per  night,  and  to  compete  with  him  Mr.  Wemyss, 
the  manager  of  the  Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  sought  to  engage 
Mr.  Forrest,  but,  to  his  surprise,  the  latter  demanded  the  same 
terms  which  Mr.  Wallack  had  obtained.  Wemyss  refused  and 
Forrest  was  then  engaged  for  the  Walnut  Street  Theatre.  In 
this  emergency  Wemyss  depended  on  Herr  Cline,  who  opened  in 
the  Quaker  City  on  the  2d  of  November.  ''  My  whole  energy 
was  directed  to  divide  the  town,  if  possible,"  the  manager  writes, 
"  during  the  engagement  of  Mr.  Wallack,  whose  first  appearance 
was  announced  for  the  26th  of  November,  as  '  Hamlet'  I  was 
certain  if  this  engagement  could  be  broken  down  the  fortunes  of 
the  Arch  Street  Theatre  would  be  broken  with  it  ;  I  therefore 
announced  Herr  Cline's  benefit,  with  a  grand  ascension  from  the 
i)ack  ot  the  stage  to  the  gallery,  surrounded  b)'  lireworks,  lor  the  . 
26th  of  November.      Aided  by  Mrs.  Knight  and  the   new  farce  of 


37 

' 'I'hc  Invinciblcs,'  which  had  mack:  so  decided  a  liil,  die;  achnirahle 
manner  in  which  the  ladies  went  throuL,di  the  manual  exercise 
beinor  marked  by  the  long  continued  applause  of  the  audience,  the 
whole  available  talent  of  the  theatre  bein<r  brou<':ht  to  bear,  had 
the  desired  effect;  we  triumphed,  and  it  was  a  triumj)!!  well  wortli 
the  sacrifice  made  to  obtain  it." 


VI. 

RKTliOSPEVTl  VK. 

To  Herr  Cline  alone  it  was  not  a  sacrifice.  All  the  parties  to 
those  rivalries,  triumphs  and  sacrifices — Wallack,  k^orrest,  Mrs. 
Knight,  Wood  and  Warren  and  Wemyss — are  dead,  and  only  Herr 
Cline  still  lives.  The  interviewer  called  the  old  rope  dancer's 
attention  to  what  Wemyss  had  written,  and  his  eye  sparkled  with 
pleasure  as  he  recalled  the  occasion. 

''  Yes,  it  was  a  great  triumph,''  he  said.  "  I  remember  it  as 
if  it  was  but  yesterday.  The  crowd  in  Chestnut  Street  was  so 
ofreat  that  I  could  not  oret  into  the  theatre  at  the  front  and  was 
compelled  to  find  my  way  into  the  house  by  the  rear  entrance." 

The  retrospection  came  as  a  great  delight  to  the  superannuated 
performer,  and  he  dwelt  with  pleasurable  excitement  upon  his 
exploits  in  the  past.  "  There  never  was  anybody  like  me,"  he 
remarked,  with  excusable  pride,  for  such  is  not  only  his  own  opinion 
of  himself,  but  that  of  all  who  ever  saw  him. 

VII. 

OLD  PliTXTS  AND  POUT  RAITS. 

"  I  know  how  you  appeared  on  the  rope,"  the  inter\  iewer  said, 
"for  I  have  seen  a  picture  of  you  in  one  of  your  acts." 

"Have  you?"  he  asked,  and  then  taking  up  the  theme,  he 
described  the  picture  at  great  length,  standing  up  and  balancing 
himself  to  illustrate  his  position  in  the  print. 


38 

"  When  was  it  made  ?"  some  one  inquired. 

"  In  Philadelphia,  more  than  fifty  years  ago,"  he  replied. 

"  I  want  a  picture  of  you  for  the  Album,"  the  interviewer 
interposed. 

"  I  have  not  even  one  of  myself,''  he  answered,  "  but  I  can  get 
one  for  you  in  Brooklyn.  A  friend  there  has  two  likenesses  of  me 
— one  when  I  was  a  young  man  and  one  that  was  taken  after  my 
retirement." 

"  I  want  you  iis  you  are  now." 

*'Very  well,  then,"  he  said.  "I  am  at  your  command  and 
will  sit  for  you  at  any  time." 

And  so  it  was  arranged  that  the  interviewer  and  the  performer 
should  go  to  a  photographer's  together,  but  the  inclemency  of  the 
winter  interfered  for  several  weeks,  and  it  was  only  on  the  day 
before  Herr  Cline's  departure  from  New  York  for  the  Forrest 
Home  that  the  intention  was  carried  out. 

VIII. 

STEPHEN  MASSETT. 

"  I  am  taking  leave  of  my  dear  friends,"  the  old  man  demurred. 
"  How  long  will  it  take  ?" 

"  Half  an  hour,"  was  the  reply. 

He  assented,  and  the  two  entered  a  car  to  ride  to  the  nearest 
gallery.  They  had  not  gone  more  than  a  block  when  a  merry 
gendeman,  whose  grizzled  iron-grey  hair  and  moustache  gave  a  quiz- 
zical expression  to  his  laughing  eyes,  appeared  and  sat  down  by  the 
side  of  the  famous  rope  dancer.  A  glance  revealed  both  to  the  new 
comer  and  to  Herr  Cline  that  it  was  a  chance  meeting  of  old 
friends.  The  recognition  was  followed  by  a  hand-shaking  of  such 
remarkable  warmth  that  it  made  the  other  passengers  stare,  and 
the  conductor  was  bewildered  as  to  whom  he  was  to  look  to  for  his 
fares.  There  was  a  rapid  conference  between  the  two  old  friends, 
in  which  the  past,  the  present  and  the  future  could  only  be  touched 
upon,  and  the  photographer's  was  reached  all  too  soon  for  either. 

The    apparition    was    Stephen    Massett,— "  Jeemes    Pipes    of 
Pipesville" 


39 

IX. 

SECURING  A  LIKENESS. 

"  I  wanted  to  introduce  you  to  Massett,"  Herr  Cline  saitl  after 
he  left  the  car.  "but  we  reached  the  end  of  our  journey  too  soon. 
I  have  known  him  for  more  than  forty  years ;  he  is  very  clever, 
and  I  was  glad  to  meet  him  after  his  long  absence." 

The  stairway  which  led  to  the  galler)-  was  climbed  slowly  and 
painfully,  the  fatigue  of  the  effort  showing  the  ravages  of  years 
upon  one  who  was  once  the  most  agile  of  his  kind.  At  last  Herr 
Cline  was  in  the  chair  facing  the  camera. 

"  The  light  is  good,"  he  said,  as  he  sat  down.  "  I  shall  be  taken 
just  as  I  am,  overcoat  and  all — it  is  the  best  way." 

A  moment  more  and  the  counterfeit  presentment  was  secured. 
Glancing  at  the  deep  set  eyes  and  the  long  streaming  side- 
whiskers  on  the  glass,  the  old  performer  expressed  himself  satisfied 
and  turned  to  go. 

"  Call  again,"  the  artist  said,  as  he  started  down  the  stairs. 

"  I  shall  never  call  again,"  the  old  man  said,  sorrowfully,  going 
down.  When  he  reached  the  street  he  shook  hands  with  the 
interviewer,  with  the  request  that  a  copy  of  the  engraving  should 
be  sent  to  him  "at  the  Home." 


X. 

FAREWELL. 

It  was  on  Sunday,  the  thirtieth  of  January,  1881,  that  Herr 
Cline  made  the  journey  to  Philadelphia.  Accompanied  b\-  Mr. 
Thomas  E,  Morris,  the  well-known  actor,  he  went  on  that  da\ 
because  it  was  the  only  one  his  friend  could  give  him.  Admission 
to  the  Home  was  only  obtained  after  a  long  and  strenuous  effort ; 
for,  strictly  speaking,  the  venerable  performer  was  not  entitled  to 
the  benefits  of  the  Forrest  bequest.      ''  He  never  spoke  a  line  in 


40 

his  life,"  said  an  old  actor  who  had  known  Herr  Cline  since  he 
first  came  to  this  country,  "but  he  was  almost  without  a  home,  and 
had  always  maintained  such  pleasant  relations  with  the  profession 
that  everybody  whose  influence  was  sought  endorsed  and  urged 
his  application."  It  would  have  been  sad  indeed  if  his  claim  had 
been  disregarded,  for  in  his  youthful  days  he  was  always  recognized 
as  an  attraction  in  the  legitimate  theatres,  and,  as  we  have  seen, 
he  was  even  pitted  against  Mr.  Wallack  as  a  candidate  for  popular 
favor.  Still,  the  old  man  felt  keenly  enough  the  adverse  fortune 
which  had  reduced  him  to  the  necessity  of  ending  his  days  in  an 
institution  from  which  the  eleemosynary  feeling  is  inseparable,  from 
its  design  and  character. 

"  It  is  not  like  eoine  to  a  mere  charitable  institution,"  he  said 
the  day  before  his  departure,  and  much  as  he  tried  to  make  him- 
self feel  that  it  was  a  home  to  which  he  was  destined,  the  sadness 
of  the  necessity  was  mingled  with  his  farewells  to  his  friends.  This 
sadness  had  its  most  plaintive  expression  in  his  reply  to  the 
photographer:  "I  shall  never  call  again." 


CHARLES    R.   THO  RN  L 


CHARLES    R.  THORNE. 


A  SEASON  OF  FIRST  APPEARANCES. 

"  It  was  early  in  the  year  1829,"  said  Mr.  Charles  R.  Thorne, 
the  veteran  actor  and  manager,  "that  I  began  my  career  at  the 
Park  Theatre.  The  season  was  a  remarkable  one  for  first  appear- 
ances. Joseph  M.  Field  was  the  first  of  the  debutants.  He  selected 
Romeo  to  begin  with,  and  as  he  was  a  good-looking  young  man 
and  talented,  he  made  a  hit.  Charles  Muzzy  came  next.  He  was 
a  New  York  boy,  and  did  fair  work  as  Young  Norval.  Then 
came  my  turn.  The  bills  of  the  day  announced  the  first  appear- 
ance of  a  young  gentleman  of  this  city  as  Octavian  in  '  The 
Mountaineers.'  " 


n. 

ME.  TIIORNES  DEBUT  AT  TUE  PAKE  THEATRE. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  great  occasion  to  you,"  the  interviewer 
suggested.  "When  the  time  came,"  Mr.  Thorne  replied,  with  a 
smile,  "the  young  citizen  was  all  agog  with  excitement.  Being 
well-known,  the  theatre  was  crowded.  I  had  never  been  behind 
the  scenes  before  the  day  of  rehearsal  and,  of  course,  knew  nothing 
of  '  the  secrets  of  the  prison  house.'  Enough — the  curtain  went 
up  on  a  capital  cast  of  the  fine  old  play."  As  he  spoke,  Mr.  Thorne 
looked  over  some  memoranda,  producing  a  slip  of  paper  which 
contained  the  following  record  : 

Bulcasin  Muley Mr.  Woodhull  Ganem Mr.  T.  Pi.ACinK 

Sadi "     Wilson  Virolet "      Nkxskn 

Lope  Toclie "    Barnes  Goatherd... .* "     Whkatley 

Kilmallock "     Kiciiings  Zoradaye :\Irs.  Siiakpe 

Roque "     HouTON  Agnes "     IIac  kktt 

Floranthe ^Iis.  Baunks. 

Octavian,  by  a  Young  Gentleman  of  tliis  City.       His  first  apiu'aranee  on  any  stage. 


42 

"  Octavian  appears  late  in  the  play,"  Mr.  Thorne  resumed  after 
the  list  of  his  associates  had  been  inspected,  "  and  while  I  was  at 
the  wino-  awaitine  mv  cue,  Mr.  Simpson  came  to  me  and  asked 
me  how  I  felt?  '  \'ery  well,'  I  answered,  and  he  kindly  took  me 
by  the  hand  and  said,  '  Success  to  you.'  That  moment  I  knew  was 
my  time,  and  while  the  dear,  good  manager  stood  there,  I  spoke 
my  lines  outside — 

I  cannot  sleep— the  leaves  are  newly  pulled, 
And  as  my  burning  body  presses  them, 
Their  freshness  mocks  my  misery — 

and  then  with  a  bold  dash  I  rushed  before  the  blazing  glare  of  the 
foodights.  I  was  hailed  with  applause,  of  course,  and  as  all  went 
well,  I  concluded  I  was  a  great  actor.  Alas,  I  knew  not  what  I 
was  to  eo  throucrh,  and  little  did  I  think  I  was  to  be  the  father  of 
a  race  of  kings." 


III. 

mS  SECOND  AND  THIRD  PARTS. 


"  My  second  appearance  was  as  Pierre  in  '\'enice  Preserved,'  " 
Mr  Thorne  coxitinued,  showing  the  cast,  which  was  as  follows : 

jaffier Mr.  Barky  I       Priuli Mr.  W'oodiu'LL 

Duke  of  Venice ' "     Wheatley  Renault "     D.  Reed 

Bedamar "     Riciiings  |       Spino.sa "     T.  Placide 

Belvidera Mrs.  Barnes. 

P)EKRE,  by  a  Young  Gentleman  of  this  City.      His  second  appearance  on  any  stage. 

"  I  don't  think  I  was  quite  as  successful  as  Pierre  as  I  had  been 
as  Octavian.  Mr.  Barry  was  a  fine  actor  and  young,  and  he  was 
the  man  to  run  away  with  most  of  the  applause,  but  for  all  this  the 
youthful  debutante  sailed  along  as  the  \gay  bold-faced  villain.' 
On  my  third  night— a  benefit— I  had  the  audacity  to  attempt  the 
character  of  Bertram.  I  think  I  pla>ed  it  fairly  for  a  novice— at 
least  the  people  said  so — and  I  was  vain  and  foolish  enough  to 
think  so,  as  all  young  actors  are." 


43 


IV. 

«■ 

ANECDOTE  OF  THE  ELDER  BOOTH. 

"  Did  you  continue  playing  at  the  Park  after  these  three  appear- 
ances *?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"Not  immediately,"  Mr.  Thorne  repHed.  "I  conckided  an 
eneao-ement  for  Charleston,  S.  C.  Let  me  remember  as  well  as  1 
can  the  ladies  and  gendemen  of  the  company — Charles  Green, 
John  Mills  Brown,  Thomas  Faulkner,  J.  M.  Scott  (Big  Scott), 
J.  Woodhull,  Charles  Bernard,  Decius  Rice,  D.  Sarzedas,  G.  Lyons, 
Major  Stevens,  Mrs.  Hamblin,  Mrs.  Bernard,  Mrs.  Green  and 
Miss  Costar.  The  company  was  to  stop  at  Norfolk,  and  as  there 
were  no  railroads  then,  we  all  took  passage  on  a  schooner.  After 
playing  two  nights,  Mr.  Booth,  the  elder,  appeared  in  his  ever- 
famous  character  of  Richard  III.  During  the  performance,  a  man 
by  the  name  of  Jones,  who  was  playing  the  Officer,  gave  a  new 
reading  to  the  speech,  'Stand  back,  my  lord,  and  let  the  coffin 
pass,'  thus : 

Stand  back,  my  lord,  and  let  the  passen  cough. 

"  Booth  was  taken  all  aback,  and  turning  away  from  the  audience, 
he  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  Jones  at  once  realized  what  he  had 
said,  and  rushing  off  the  stage,  left  the  theatre  ;  but  Booth,  at  all 
times  crood-natured  toward  his  brother  actors,  found  him  out  the 
next  day,  and  insisted  that  the  management  should  retain  him, 
which  they  did." 


V. 
A  STORM  AT  SEA. 

"  At  Charleston  the  managers  were  J.  J.  Adams  and  H.  Willard, 
and  the  stars  Thomas  A.  Cooper,  Thomas  S.  Hamblin,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  W.  R.  Blaka  and  Clara  Fisher.  During  the  season  Charles 
Bernard  died  and  the  company  paid  their  last  tribute  to  a  departed 
brother.     After  three  months  of  very  good  and  some  bad  business 


44 

we  disbanded,  and  as  Mr.  Adams  had  leased  the  HoHday  Street 
Theatre,  Baltimore,  he  shipped  a  part  of  the  company  by  sea  to 
that  city.  I  was  one  and  the  others  were  Scott,  Rice  and  Lyons. 
We  shipped  on  board  a  schooner  of  80  tons.  There  were  only 
two  berths  in  the  little  craft.  Big  Scott  had  one  and  the  Captain 
the  other.  Rice  and  I  fixed  ourselves  as  best  we  could  on  the  floor 
and  Lyons  slept  in  the  hold,  where  the  old  green  curtain  had  been 
stowed  away,  together  with  the  oil  lamps,  which  were  used  for  foot- 
lights. You  may  imagine  that  the  'green  rag'  was  very  smoky. 
When. we  got  into  the  Gulf  Stream  it  began  to  blow  very  hard, 
and  while  the  little  vessel  was  tossing  like  a  shingle  on  the  rough 
ocean,  Lyons  put  his  head  out  of  the  hold  and  called  to  the  captain 
for  God's  sake  to  run  her  ashore.  He  had  been  lying  in  the  green 
cloth  and  his  face  was  as  black  as  Daddy  Rice  fixed  up  for  Jumbo 
Jim.  In  spite  of  the  danger,  it  was  impossible  to  refrain  from 
laughing  at  his  ludicrous  appearance." 


VI. 


HOME  AGAIN. 

"  At  Baltimore,  we  opened  with  Mad.  Feron  in  the  opera  of 
'  Masaniello,'  but  the  season  was  a  very  short  one,  and  soon  all  who 
could  '  raise  the  wind '  were  off  for  New  York.  I  was  among  the 
number  and  arrived  in  my  native  city  after  my  first  season  on  the 
stage,  well  convinced  that  '  all  that  glitters  is  not  gold  I '  Mr. 
Simpson  received  me  kindly,  and  I  again  played  a  short  engage- 
ment at  the  Park,  opening  as  Liikem  '  Riches,'  and  following  with 
Pescara  in  the  '  Apostate,'  with  fair  success.  After  this  I  went  to 
Richmond,  Va.,  as  the  juvenile  tragedian,  under  the  management 
of  H.  Willard.  In  the  company  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Joe  Cowell, 
Messrs.  Dean,  Reed  and  Rice  and  Misses  Emily  and  Maria 
Mestayer;  but  the  season  was  not  a  success,  although  Charles 
Kean  and  James  H.  Caldwell  appeared  as  stars.  It  was  an 
important  engagement  for  me,  however,  for  it  was  there  I  became 
acquainted  with  my  wife,  just  about  fifty-one  years  ago.  I  soon 
returned  to  New  York,  Mr.  Hamblin  having  offered  mean  engage- 
ment  at  the    Bowery  Theatre,  which  I  gladly  accepted.      I  after- 


45 

wards  opened  at  die  Chadiam  Garden  Theatre,  on  the  south  side 
of  Chatham  Street,  below  Pearl.  At  this  theatre  '  Brian  Boroihme,' 
'The  Lady  of  the  Lake,'  '  Briar  Cliff,'  and  many  other  popular 
dramas,  were  first  produced.  Subsequently  1  re-engaged  with 
Mr.  Hamblin,  at  the  Bowery,  reappearing  there  February  2,  1835, 
as  Duj'oc  to  John  R.  Scott's  Napoleon,  and  assisting  in  the  pro- 
duction of  Miss  Medina's  '  Last  Days  of  Pompeii,'  in  which  I 
played  Glancus  to  Mr.  Hamblin's  Arbaccs.  'I'his  play  was  beauti- 
fully put  on  the  stage  by  James  Anderson,  commonl)-  called 
Jimmy,  and  had  a  long  run,  for  those  days." 


VIL 

RICHMOND  BILL. 

''You  were  also  at  Richmond  Hill  Theatre  about  the  same 
time,  were  you  not  T  the  interviewer  asked. 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Thorne  answered;  "after  two  seasons  at  the 
Bowery,  I  engaged  with  Richard  Russell,  who  opened  the  Rich- 
mond Hill  Theatre  with  a  strong  company,  which  included  the 
great  Mrs.  Duff.  This  theatre  rapidly  passed  through  various 
hands— Jack  Barnes,  Flynn  &  Thorne,  M.  S.  Phillips,  Mrs. 
Hamblin  and  others  attempting  the  management,  with  only  mode- 
rate success.  Thomas  A.  Cooper,  the  famous  tragedian,  played  an 
engagement,  opening  as  Fa/staff,  a  character  which  he  acted 
finely  and  looked  to  the  life." 


VHL 

IN  THE  WEST  INDIES. 

"  You  have  been  a  considerable  traveler,  have  you  not,  ^Ir. 
Thorne?"  the  interviewer  inquired. 

"  I  have  been  all  round  the  world.  Soon  after  the  closing  of 
the  Richmond  Hill  Theatre,  A.  W.  Jackson  and  myself  engaged  a 
small  company  for  the  West  India  Islands  and  sailed  in  the 
schooner  Roarer  for  Bermuda.  We  had  a  rough  passage,  and 
while    in    the    latitude    of   the  island,  it  came  on   thick  and  ugly 


46 

weather.  The  consequence  was  that  after  knocking  about  for  two 
days,  the  captain  informed  us  he  could  not  find  the  island,  and  as 
his  vessel  was  bound  to  St.  Thomas  with  freight,  he  asked  us  to 
go  with  him.  We  answered,  '  any  port  in  a  storm,'  and  in  five  or 
six  days  we  arrived  there  and  opened  the  theatre  to  good  business. 
After  playing  for  four  weeks,  Jackson  and  wife  returned  to 
New  York  and  I  went  to  St.  Croix,  where  the  yellow  fever  played 
sad  havoc  with  the  little  company.  W.  Graham,  Sam  Tatnall  and 
Baldwin  all  died,  but  with  the  rest  I  started  for  Curacoa,  where 
we  played  to  crowded  houses  for  a  short  time  before  coming  home. 
By  this  time  I  had  become  quite  a  family  man,  having  two  children, 
the  younger  of  whom  was  born  in  St.  Thomas." 


IX. 

MANAGER  OF  THE  CHATHAM  THEATRE. 

"  I  then  visited  Halifax  with  my  wife,  W.  Deverna  being  the 
manager,  but  I  soon  returned  to  my  native  city  and  opened  the 
New  Chatham  Theatre,  in  the  management  of  which  I  continued 
for  three  or  four  years,  with  triumphant  success.  Among  the  stars 
who  appeared  under  my  direction  were  Booth  the  Elder,  Edwin 
Forrest,  Jim  Crow  Rice,  Yankee  Hill,  James  Brown,  John  R.  Scott, 
Billy  Williams,  Henry  Wallack,  Henry  Placide,  Hervio  Nano, 
John  Sefton,  Mile.  Celeste,  Josephine  Clifton,  .  Rose  Telbin,  &c. 
At  this  theatre  Mrs.  Thorne  played  yack  Sheppard  over  seventy 
nights.  It  would  be  impossible  to  enumerate  the  successful  plays 
and  dramas  which  I  produced  at  that  time,  but  as  a  general  thing 
all  were  successful." 


X. 

OFF  FOR  THE  JiRAZTLS. 

"  After  retiring  from  the  control  of  the  Chatham  Theatre  I  felt 
a  disposition  to  rove  again,  and  concluded  to  visit  Brazil.    I  engaged 
Herr  Cline,  Monster  Paul  and  Charles  Mestayer  and  wife,  now  the' 
widoxV  of  the  late  lamented  Barney  Williams ;   but  we  remained  at 
Rio  Janeiro  only  a  short  time." 


47 

xr. 

A  ROW  IN  BOSTON. 

"  My  next  appearance  was  at  Hoston,  as  the  leading-  man  at 
the  National  Theatre,  under  the  management  of  W.  Pell))-,  with 
Mrs.  Thorne  for  juvenile  and  singing  business.  We  continued 
there  two  seasons,  when  a  grand  row  took  place  on  account  of  my 
wife  and  myself  It  would  be  a  long  story  to  particularize  now, 
but  the  manager  and  all  who  attempted  to  speak  in  his  behalf  were 
driven  from  the  stao^e,  the  chandeliers  were  broken  and  the  lii/hts 
put  out.  We  left  the  theatre  in  consequence,  and  a  complimentary 
benefit  was  given  us  at  the  Tremont  Temple.  After  this  I  went  to 
Cincinnati  and  acted  with  John  Bates,  then  at  Shires'  Garden,  and 
afterwards  I  leased  Rockwell's  Amphitheatre  and  fitted  it  up  as  a 
People's  Theatre,  opening  with  Mrs.  Mowatt  and  E.  L.  Daven- 
port to  excellent  houses.  At  this  time  the  P'ederal  Street  Theatre, 
Boston,  was  offered  to  me,  and  being  anxious  to  return  as  a 
manaeer  where  I  left  as  an  actor.  I  could  not  withstand  the 
temptation." 

XII. 

BOSTON  MANAGEMENT. 

"  I  opened  the  house  during  the  summer  of  1847,  for  a  prelim- 
inary season,  with  the  Viennoise  Children,  and  began  the  regular 
season  in  August,  with  James  Wallack,  the  father  of  Lester  Wallack, 
as  the  star." 

''What   is  your  estimate   of  Mr.  Wallack   as  an   actor?"  the 

interviewer  asked. 

"  All  who  remember  him  will  agree  with  me,"  Mr.  Thorne 
replied,  "  that  he  was  the  best  actor  who  ever  crossed  the  Atlantic. 
He  was  grand  in  tragedy  and  supremely  excellent  in  comedy.  Ofi 
the  stage  he  was  a  noble  and  courteous  gentleman,  and  on  it  the 
Prince  of  Actors — in  fact,  he  '  was  a  man  take  him  for  all  in  all  we 
will  never  look  upon  his  like  again.'  I  continued  the  management 
of  the  Federal  for  two  seasons  and  then  leased  the  Howard 
Atheneum,  where  I  also  met  with  much  success." 


48 
XIII. 

ONE  OF  THE  ARGONAUTS. 


"  About  this  time  the  CaHfornia  fever  broke  out,  and  I  started 
from  New  York  on  the  steamship  Ohio  for  Chicago,  with  my  wife 
and  two  sons,  Thomas  and  Wilham,  Charles  Jr.  being  left  at  school. 
We  were  obliged  to  take  a  sailing  vessel  on  the  Pacific,  and  were 
sixty- five  days  in  reaching  the  Golden  Gate.  We  were  the  first 
professionals  who  visited  that  coast.  There  being  no  theatre  at 
San  Francisco,  we  opened  at  Sacramento  with  '  Pizarro '  and  the 
'  Swiss  Cottage,'  to  a  house  of  $i,8oo.  The  next  year  the  American 
Theatre  was  built  and  we  continued  playing  to  splendid  business." 


XIV. 

RO  VING. 


"  Afterwards  I  started  for  Australia  by  way  of  the  Sandwich 
Islands,  and  performed  at  the  Victoria  Theatre,  Sydney,  with  Mrs. 
Thorne,  our  daughter  Emily  and  Miss  Kate  Dennin  to  fine  business. 
On  our  return  we  stopped  at  Lima  and  Callao,  and  then  I  again 
went  to  California,  taking  with  me  Mr.  Frank  Chanfrau  and  Miss 
Albertine.  I  managed  the  new  theatres  at  Sacramento  and  San 
Francisco  for  awhile  and  then  sailed  for  China,  Eighty  days  put 
us  into  Hone  Kone,  Business  was  splendid,  but  we  met  with  a 
fearful  loss,  our  eldest  son  dying  of  the  cholera.  My  son  Charles 
came  to  meet  us,  but  only  arrived  in  time  to  be  informed  of  his 
brother's  death  and  that  all  the  family  had  left  for  Calcutta.  Edwin 
returned  to  China,  where  he  met  his  brother,  while  w^e  sailed  from 
India  up  the  Red  Sea  to  Suez,  Egypt,  and  after  visiting  the  Pyra- 
mids and  going  up  the  Nile  above  Cairo,  we  embarked  at  Alex- 
andria for  Marseilles,  and  then  passing  some  time  in  France  and 
England,  came  back  to  New  York." 


i^ 


HENRY     C.TIMM. 


HENRY  C.  TIMM. 


A  DISllNGUISIIED  PIANIST. 

Among  the  noted  artists  of  the  last  generation  who  still  survive 
is  Mr.  Henry  C,  Timm,  the  pianist,  the  "Amiable  Timm,"  as 
Mrs.  Horn  calls  him.  Mr.  Timm  was  born  at  Hamburg,  Germany, 
July  1 1,  i8i  I,  and  received  his  musical  education  in  his  native  city. 
"  I  was  a  pupil  of  Jacob  Schmitt,  quite  a  celebrity  in  his  way,"  he 
said  to  the  interviewer  who  called  upon  him  at  his  residence  in 
Hoboken  for  a  chat  about  music  and  musicians  in  the  past.  "As 
soon  as  I  felt  myself  sufficiently  proficient  in  my  art  to  appear  in 
public,  I  came  to  New  York,  arriving  in  that  city  in  1835,  the 
winter  of  the  great  fire.  It  was  soon  after  my  arrival  that  I  made 
my  debut  as  a  pianist,  my  first  appearance  being  effected  at  the 
Park  Theatre,  where  I  played  for  the  benefit  of  John  Kemble 
Mason.     That  I  may  say  was  mistake  the  first." 


II. 


THE  A  TRJCAL  BLAND  [SIIMKNTS. 

"  Why?"  the  interviewer  inc^uircd. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  Mr.  Timm  replied,  "  I  was  surroundetl  by 
theatrical  people  on  that  occasion  and  they  showed  me  so  many 
attentions  that  I  soon  learned  to  love  them  and  the  theatre.  I 
became  infatuated  with  the  footlights — so  much  so  that  I  even 
consented  to  play  the  second  horn  in  Mr.  Simpson's  orchestra,  that 
I  might  be  near  them.      I  was,  besides,  to  play  solos  when  called 


50 

upon,  but  this  occurred  only  five  or  six  times  during  the  season. 
Whenever  I  appeared  as  a  pianist  it  was  with  success,  and  my 
mistake  was  in  giving  my  time  to  orchestral  or  theatrical  music 
instead  of  piano  recitals  and  teaching." 

The  last  sentence  was  accompanied  by  a  significant  shrug  of 
the  shoulders,  which  meant  so  much  more  than  the  words  conveyed, 
that  the  interviewer  was  confident  there  was  some  other  reason 
than  the  potency  of  theatrical  blandishments  for  Mr.  Timm's 
acceptance  of  a  second  place  in  an  orchestra  to  the  more  profitable 
occupation  of  teaching  the  piano  to  the  Flora  McFlimseys  of  that 
epoch.  Mr.  Timm  paused,  lit  a  cigar,  and  then,  throwing  himself 
back  in  his  chair,  explained  his  meaning  more  fully. 


III. 

AN  UNMUSICAL  EPOCH 

"  Musical  taste  in  New  York  at  that  time,"  he  said,  "  was  at  a 
very  low  ebb — so  low  that  it  was  no  satisfaction  to  teach.  The 
bands  were  mostly  composed  of  black  people — it  seems  incredible, 
but  it  was  so.  Any  little  girl  who  could  play  a  waltz  was  con- 
sidered wonderful.  Of  course,  no  society  like  the  Philharmonic 
could  exist  at  that  day— it  came  later.  It  is  no  vanity  in  me  to 
say  that  there  was  then  in  New  York  only  one  musician  who  could 
be  compared  with  me." 

"  Who  was  he?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"William  A.  King,"  Mr.  Timm  replied.  "  For  a  long  time  he 
was  the  organist  of  Grace  Church.  I  held  the  position  for  a  few 
months  myself,  when  the  church  was  down  town,  near  Trinity. 
Mr.  King  came  after  me  and  was  there  still  when  the  present  Grace 
Church  was  built.      He  died  some  years  ago." 

IV.    . 

MliS.   TIMM. 

By  deftly  bringing  the  old  musician  back  to  his  orchestral 
experiences,  the  interviewer  led  Mr.  Timm  to  speak  of  the  distin- 
guished artist  who  bore  his  name  for  many  years. 


51 

"  It  was  while  I  was  connected  with  the  orchestra  of  the  Park 
Theatre,"  he  said,  "  that  I  became  acquainted  witli  my  first  wife. 
She  could  sing  and  dance  and  played  in  the  farces  as  well  as  in 
the  musical  burlettas.      It  was  no  easy  thing  to  hold  a  responsible 
position  in  the  Park  company  at  that  time.    In  '  Deep,  Deep  Sea,'  in 
which  Mrs.  Timm  was  the  Cassiopc,  Mrs.  Gurner  was  Andromeda, 
Mrs.  Vernon  Aniphitrite  and  Mrs.  Chapman  Perseus.    They  were 
great  artists,  all  of  them,  and  the  stars  about  that  time  were  Mr. 
and    Mrs.   Wood,   Miss  Watson — you   have   heard   the   Paganini 
story — Mrs.  Austin  and  Miss  Lydia  Phillips.    Then  as  a  danseuse 
was  Mile.  Augusta,  who  was  young  and  beautiful  and  exceedingly 
graceful.      She  played  the  Bayadere  while  I  was  in  the  orchestra 
with  great  success.     William  Abbott,  for  many  years  the  juvenile 
tragedian  at  Covent  Garden,  came  over  the  same  year,  and  Charles 
E.  Horn    was   soon   to   sino-  in    New  York  once  more  with   his 
customary  effect.     Abbott    was  a    fine-looking    man,   stylish    but 
haughty.    Horn  was  always  jovial  and  full  of  anecdote.    Then,  too, 
the  Placides,   Tom   and  Harry,   Latham  and  many  others,  were 
great  favorites  with  the  Park  audiences.    It  was  in  competition  with 
such  artists  as  these  that   Mrs.  Timm  was  compelled  to  work  her 
way  to  the  front.    In  1840  she  went  to  the  Olympic  Theatre,  where 
she  begun  the  season  as  Mrs.   White  to  Mitchell's  Peter.    It  would 
be  impossible  for  me  to  recall  the  parts  she  played  while  she  was 
a  member  of  Mitchell's  company.    One  of  the  last  that  I  remember 
was  Apollo^  when  the  good  old  burletta  of  '  Midas '  was  revived  in 
1842.       She  was   first    in  everything,   but    failing    health  finally 
compelled  her  to  withdraw  and  she  was  ill  for  a  number  of  years 
before  her  death,  which  occurred  December  28,  1854." 


V. 

ABBOTTS  CHARLESTON  VENTURE. 

"When  did  you  quit  the  Park  orchestra?"  the  interviewer 
inquired. 

"  Soon  after  my  marriage,"  Mr.  Timm  answered.  "  About  that 
time  Mr.  Abbott  organized  a  company  for  Charleston,  S.  C,  and 
I  went  with  him  as  musical  director.  Mrs.  Timm,  also,  was  with 
the  company.     While  I  was  with  Abbott  I  composed  a  great  deal 


52 


of  melodramatic  music  for  him,  '  Aladdin  and  the  Wonderful 
Lamp  '  and  '  Cherry  and  Fair  Star '  were  among  the  pieces  for 
which  I  composed  the  music.  It  was  music  for  the  occasion  only, 
but  it  would  be  impossible  to  determine  if  it  had  any  value,  for  I 
have  scarcely  a  scrap  of  it  left,  nearly  all  of  it  being  burnt  in  the 
Charleston  fire  of  1839,  I  remained  three  winters  in  Charleston, 
playing  at  Buffalo  the  first  summer  and  at  Baltimore  the  second." 


VI. 

CONCERTTZING. 

"  At  the  close  of  my  Charleston  engagement,"  Mr.  Timm 
resumed,  "  I  gave  concerts  with  De  Begnis,  the  original  Figaro  in 
the  '  Barber  of  Seville,' — Rossini  wrote  the  part  for  him — as  the 
tenor.  He  was  a  good  actor  as  well  as  a  great  comic  singer.  I 
had  with  me  besides  a  lady,  a  very  good  artist,  whose  name  I  now 
forget.  We  met  with  fair  success,  but  I  was  anxious  to  get  back  to 
New  York  and  I  came.  I  returned  just  before  the  opening  of  the 
new  opera  house  in  Church  Street.  Some  of  my  friends  wanted 
me  to  teach  the  piano,  but  I  was  still  in  love  with  the  theatre  and 
preferred  it  to  teaching.  It  was  foolish,  I  know,  but  I  was  younger 
then  than  I  am  now.  In  consequence  I  was  induced  to  accept  the 
post  of  chorus  master  at  the  Italian  Opera  House.  That  was  my 
last  experience  in  theatrical  life,  and  subsequently  I  gave  my  atten- 
tion wholly  to  concertizing  and  teaching." 


VII. 

THE  NEW  NATIONAL  OPERA  HOUSE. 

"You  Spoke  of  the  Italian  Opera  House  just  now,"  the  inter- 
viewer interposed.  "  You  meant,  I  presume,  the  rebuilt  National 
Theatre  ?" 

Mr.  Timm  shook  his  head  by  way  of  an  affirmative  response. 

"The  theatre  opened,"  he  said,  "with  a  new  opera  by  Charles 
E.  Horn,  called  'Ahmed  el  Kamel,  the  Pilgrim  of  Love.'  Unfor- 
tunately it  was  a  failure  and    soon   gave   place   to   Mr,  and    Mrs. 


53 

Seguin,  who  had  just  come  over  witli  an  English  troupe.  That 
was  tlieir  first  appearance  in  America,  but  Mrs.  Seg^uin  can  give 
you  better  and  more  complete  information  in  regard  to  the  artists 
who  composed  the  company  than  1  can.  The  season  throughout 
was  unfortunate,  and  as  short  as  it  was  unfortunate.  The  house 
remained  open  only  a  few  months,  when  it  was  burned  a  second 
time  with  all  its  contents — scenery,  music,  library,  wardrobe,  every- 
thing. It  was  then  I  began  to  think  I  had  had  enough  of  the  theatre 
and  made  up  my  mind  to  teach.  If  the  Opera  House  had  not 
burned  I  do  not  know  but  that  I  would  be  in  the  theatre  still — once 
in,  it  is  so  difficult  to  get  out  of  it.  It  was  that  fire  which  first 
put  a  damper  on  my  ardent  preferences  for  theatrical  life  before 
and  behind  the  curtain,  and  led  me  to  adopt  the  course  which  I 
subsequently  pursued." 

VIII. 

AN  INFLUX  OF  GREAT  ARTISTS. 

"  Although  a  very  few  years  had  elapsed,"  Mr.  Timm  said, 
pausing  to  pour  out  a  glass  of  pale  sherry  for  his  visitor,  "  musical 
taste  had  greatly  improved,  and  this  improvement  was  marked  by 
a  wonderful  influx  of  great  artists  from  abroad,  both  vocal  and 
instrumental.  I  had  what  I  may  call  a  monopoly  in  accompanying 
them.  People  seemed  to  diink  that  no  one  could  do  it  so  well  as 
I.  I  led  Ole  Bull's  orchestra  at  his  second  appearance  in  New 
York,  and  when  Henry  Herz  came  over  with  Sivori,  we  played 
together  on  two  pianos.  .Sivori  was  a  pupil  of  Paganini  and  Herz 
one  of  the  best  pianists  who  ever  visited  this  country.  They  gave 
concerts  together  at  the  old  Tabernacle,  a  large  building  but  a 
tub — horrid  !  When  Artot,  the  violin -player,  was  here  with  Cinti 
Damoreau,  I  accompanied  at  their  concerts  also,  and  at  many 
others  which  I  cannot  remember  now." 

IX. 

ETX  CLA PPFJiKA STEN. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Timm's  face  brightened,  and  giving  one  or  two 
vigorous  puffs  to  his  cigar,  he  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"I  played  in  Jenny  Lind's  concerts  in   Tripler  Hall,"  he  then 


54 

explained,  "on  a  monster  piano  made  by  a  Mr.  Pirsson,  an  old 
piano-maker,  which  enabled  two  players  at  each  end  to  play  a 
quartet.  The  piece  was  by  Moscheles  and  was  called  '  La  Contrast/ 
and  was  one  of  the  few  original  pieces  composed  for  eight  hands. 
The  players  were  Jules  Benedict,  Mr.  Scharfenberg,  Otto  Dresel 
and  myself  Jules  is  now  Sir  Julius,  you  know.  In  his  peculiar 
German  way  he  called  Pirsson's  piano  a  '  clapperkasten  ' — a  ratde- 
box.  The  whole  thing  was  only  a  Barnum  trick,  and  in  any  other 
hands  than  Barnum's  would  have  been  too  ridiculous  to  attract 
any  attention  whatever.  As  soon  as  he  had  no  further  use  for  it 
nobody  cared  anything  for  it,  and  so,  after  an  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  exhibit  it  in  some  towns  in  Connecticut,  the  inventor  sawed  it 
in  two,  because  of  its  unwieldiness." 


X. 

AS  AN  ORGANIST. 

"  You  have  been  connected  with  the  church  as  well  as  the  theatre 
and  the  concert-room,  have  you  not?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  "1  was  for  many  years  the  organist  at 
St.  Thomas'  Church,  when  it  was  in  Broadway,  at  the  corner  of 
Houston  Street.  Afterwards  I  was  at  the  Church  of  the  Messiah, 
under  both  Dr.  Dewey  and  Dr.  Osgood,  and  finally  I  went  to  Dr. 
Bellows'  Church  in  Fourth  Avenue.  This,  I  believe,  completes 
my  church  service." 


XL 

THE  PHILHARMONIC  SOCIETY. 

"  But  my  most  important  service  to  music  in  New  York  was  in 
connection  with  the  Philharmonic  Society.  In  1843  or  1844.  when 
the  Society  was  still  in  its  infancy,  I  became  its  President,  an  honor 
which  I  retained  until  i860,  when  I  resigned.  While  I  was  at  the 
head  of  the  Society  I  generally  played  once  during  the  season. 
Then  we  only  gave  three  concerts  each  year,  instead  of  six  as  now, 
and  we  worked  very  hard   for  very  little  money.      One  season  we 


55 

divided  only  seventeen  dollars  among  about  fifty  members,  but  we 
were  all  animated  by  the  true  musical  spirit  and  would  not  give  up. 
I  succeeded  U.  C.  Hill  as  President  when  he  went  to  Europe,  and 
after  his  return  he  became  Vice-President  under  me.  Since  my 
time  somehow  the  Philharmonic  Society  has  changed  its  policy 
and  chooses  its  presidents  because  of  their  social  influence  rather 
than  on  account  of  their  knowledge  of  music.  Everything  is 
changed,  and  I  am  to-day  a  complete  stranger  in  the  Society,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  for  nearly  twenty  years  I  was  its  President. 
Of  this  I  had  a  singular  proof  at  the  last  rehearsal.  1  wanted  to 
hear  Bach's  Cantata  and  went  to  the  stage-door  to  obtain  admit- 
tance. Nobody  recognized  me.  -I  am  Mr.  Timm,'  I  said,  'and 
was  President  of  the  Society  for  many  years.'  '  That  may  be,'  was 
the  answer,  *  but  we  don't  know  you.'  At  last  somebody  came 
who  did  know  me  and  I  got  in.  I  had  a  lesson  to  give,  and  when 
the  Cantata  was  finished  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  go ;  but, 
difficult  as  it  was  to  get  in,  I  found  it  more  difficult  still  to  get  out. 
Every  part  of  the  house  was  crowded,  but  while  I  do  not  blame 
the  members  of  the  Society  for  not  knowing  me  and  have  no  fault 
to  find  with  them  because  their  concerts  are  profitable,  still  I  could 
not  help  thinking  that  they  ought  to  remember  that  philharmonic 
does  not  mean  the  love  of  money,  but  the  love  of  harmony." 

It  is  impossible  to  express  on  the  printed  page  the  exquisite 
humor  with  which  the  last  sentence  was  delivered.  It  was  unde- 
niably a  pun,  and  as  such  reprehensible,  but  it  was  uttered  with  a 
piquancy  \vhich  gave  it  a  delicious  flavor.  In  spite  of  its  satire,  it 
did  credit  to  the  heart  as  well  as  the  head  of  the  Amiable  Timm, 
and  its  wit  ought  to  be  relished  by  the  members  of  the  Society, 
especially  those  who  never  heard  of  the  celebrated  musician  who, 
as  its  President  for  so  many  years,  did  more  than  any  one  else  to 
perpetuate  its  existence. 


XII. 

RETIREMENT. 

"  The  last  night  of  my  connection  with  the  Philharmonic 
Society,"  Mr.  Timm  said  in  conclusion,  "  was  a  great  occasion. 
The  firing  on  Fort  Sumter  had   been   followed   by  the  President's 


56 

call  for  troops.  There  was  a  great  meeting  in  Union  Square  that 
night,  but  we  had  a  crowded  house  at  the  concert  notwithstanding. 
It  had  been  announced  that  Miss  Brainerd  would  sing  'The  Star 
Spangled  Banner,'  and  the  audience  was  requested  to  join  in  the 
chorus.  I  never  heard  anything  so  grand  in  my  life.  There  were 
not  fewer  than  three  thousand  voices,  and  all  were  moved  by  a 
patriotic  fervor  which  amply  compensated  for  any  lack  of  artistic 
excellence.  I  never  expect  to  hear  anything  like,  it  again,  and  I 
remember  it  with  the  greater  satisfaction  because  it  was  on  the 
last  night  of  my  official  connection  with  music  in  New  York.  vSince 
my  retirement  I  have  had  no  other  ambition  than  to  teach  the 
piano.  I  have  seen  the  growth  of  musical  taste  and  culture  in 
America,  and  I  think  I  may  claim  some  credit  for  my  share  in  their 
development." 

This  brought  the  interview  to  a  close,  and  lighting  a  fresh  cigar 
from  Mr.  Timm's  box,  the  interviewer  withdrew  from  under  the 
hospitable  roof  of  an  artist  who  has  done  more  than  any  one  else 
to  foster  the  love  of  music  in  this  country 

"America  will  be  the  home  of  the  music  of  the  future,"  Mr. 
Timm  said,  as  he  was  closing  the  door. 

"And  you  its  father." 


OHN      BANVARD. 


JOHN     BANVARD. 


A  VU1TTC\S  VL'^ITOR. 

Before  I  became  an  interviewer  I  was  a  critic.  My  duties 
included  the  discussion  of  the  current  Hterature,  music  and  the 
drama,  besides  which  I  constantly  contributed  to  the  great  journal 
with  which  I  was  connected,  leading  editorial  articles  on  the  finan- 
cial condition  of  the  country  and  on  important  sporting  events.  It 
is  no  egotism  in  me  to  say  that  I  wrote  well  on  every  subject,  and 
the  erratic  young  man  who  paid  me  my  salary  evidently  believed 
I  wrote  but  about  the  thiuLTS  of  which  I  had  the  least  knowledcje. 
"  I  was  appointed  a  musical  and  dramatic  critic,"  I  once  explained, 
"because  I  was  incompetent,  and  dismissed  because  I  was  suc- 
cessful." I  had  a  large  acquaintance  with  books,  however,  and  I 
was  soon  able  to  acquire  no  mean  stock  of  information  touching 
the  drama  and  dramatic  history.  My  multiform  duties  brought  me 
in  contact  with  many  men  of  many  minds,  and  it  was  a  chance 
meeting  with  the  quaint  but  gifted  old  man  who  is  the  subject  of 
this  paper  which  makes  a  personal  explanation  necessary.  Some- 
time in  the  year  1873  John  Banvard  sought  me,  bringing  me  a 
queer  book  with  an  imposing  title,  which  he  asked  me  to  read  and 
review.  I  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  the  man  before,  but  his 
appearance  and  manner,  and  above  all.  the  oddity  of  his  book 
interested  me,  and  the  conversation  took  a  wide  range.  I  made 
no  notes  of  it  at  the  time,  and  so  cannot  undertake  to  reproduce  it 
w^ord  for  word,  or  even  in  colloquial  form,  but  the  substance  ot  his 
story,  still  lingers  in  my  memory,  and  in  relating  it  now  I  may  say 
that  only  the  words  in  which  Mr.  Banvard's  histor\-  is  told  are 
my  own. 


58 
II. 

JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 

From  Mr.  Banvard's  conversation  I  learned  that  he  had  been 
an  artist — self-taught  and  ambitious — a  lecturer,  a  writer  of  books, 
a  dramatic  author  and  a  manager ;  in  fact,  everything  but  an 
actor.  His  story  was  replete  in  interest,  full  of  adventure,  and,  if 
not  a  romance,  rich  in  the  kind  of  stuff  out  of  which  romances  are 
woven.  He  was  born  in  the  City  of  New  York,  where  his  early 
friend  and  associate  was  Samuel  Woodworth,  the  author  of  the  "  Old 
Oaken  Bucket "  and  numerous  dramas.  Like  his  friend,  Mr. 
Banvard  informed  me  he  evinced  a  talent  for  poetry  during  his 
childhood  and  wrote  verses  before  he  was  nine  years  old.  Subse- 
quently he  contributed  to  the  poet's  corner  of  his  friend's  journal, 
and  when  he  was  exhibiting  his  panorama  of  the  INIississippi  he  was 
accustomed  to  recite  one  of  his  own  poems,  "  The  White  Fawn," 
in  illustration  of  a  scene  in  the  moving  picture.  His  childhood 
was  beset  by  the  hardships  which  befall  most  American  youths, 
and  when"  he  was  only  fifteen  years  of  age  his  father  failed  in 
business  and  he  was  turned  adrift  upon  the  world.  Boy  as  he  was 
he  determined  to  go  West  and  grow  up  with  the  country.  His 
first  employment  was  in  a  drug  store  in  Louisville.  "  My  employer 
told  me,"  he  said,  "  that  I  could  make  better  likenesses  than  I  could 
pills."  John  thought  so,  too,  and  set  up  for  a  painter,  but  at  first 
he  met  with  litde  success,  and  so  he  started  down  the  river  with 
some  young  acquaintances  to  seek  other  fields  for  the  exercise  of 
his  talents.  "  I  was  only  sixteen  at  the  time,"  he  remarked,  as 
nearly  as  I  can  recall  his  language,  "a  fatherless,  moneyless  boy, 
but  while  I  was  floating  down  the  noble  Mississippi  for  the  first 
time,  a  very  extraordinary  idea  came  to  me.  I  had  read  in  some 
foreign  journal  that  America  could  boast  the  most  picturesque  and 
magnificent  scenery  in  the  world,  but  had  no  artist  capable  of  deli- 
neating it.  W^ithin  myself  I  resolved  that  I  would  take  away  the 
reproach  from  my  country — that  I  would  paint  the  sublimities  and 
beauties  of  my  native  land.  I  chose  the  scenery  of  the  Mississippi 
for  my  theme,  and  resolved  that  my  picture  should  be  as  superior 
to  all  others  in  size  as  that  prodigious  river  is  to  the  streamlets  of 
luirope  ;  in  a  word,  my  grand  object  was  to  produce  for  this  country 
the  largest  painting  in  the  world." 


59 


III. 

THE  LARGEST  PAINTING  IN  THE  M'ORLl). 

The  Panorama  began  with  a  view  of  Rush  Island  and  the  bar 
of  the  Upper  Mississippi,  and  then  followed  the  Bluffs  of  Selma, 
looking  like  the  facades  of  mighty  temples;  Herculaneum,  standing, 
as  it  were,  in  an  immense  natural  amphitheatre  ;  the  Plateau  rocks  ; 
Jefferson  Barracks ;  the  old  French  settlement  of  \'ide  Pouche, 
and  St.  Louis,  with  views  of  the  United  States  Arsenal  and  of 
Bloody  Island,  a  favorite  old  duelling  ground.  Then  came  in  quick 
succession  views  of  the  Missouri  River,  the  mouth  of  the  Ohio, 
Cairo,  the  Iron  and  Chalk  Banks,  the  Indian  Mounds  at  Island 
No  25,  Plumb  Point,  the  Chickasaw  Bluffs,  with  views  of  Fulton, 
Randolph  and  Memphis,  Presidents'  Island,  Stack  Island,  Vicksburg, 
Palmyra  Island,  Grand  Gulf,  Natchez,  Ellis'  Cliffs,  Bayou  Sara, 
White  Cliffs,  Prophet's  Island,  Baton  Rouge  and  New  Orleans. 
In  these  pictures  Mr.  Banv^ard  was  very  fond  of  introducing  correct 
likenesses  of  the  steamboats  then  plying  on  the  river.  At  Rush 
Island  he  showed  the  wreck  of  the  steamer  West  Wind;  at  the 
Iron  Banks  he  gave  a  view  of  the  Pcytona  wooding  by  moonlight; 
at  Mills  Point  he  exhibited  a  diving-bell  at  work  on  a  wreck,  and 
Palmyra  Island  was  apparently  painted  as  a  background  for  the 
steamer  Uncle  Sam.  Figures,  too,  were  introduced :  Indian  war- 
riors lazily  reclining  on  the  green  sward  while  the  squaws  prepare 
their  frugal  repast,  and  slaves  working  in  the  cotton  fields,  with 
the  mansions  of  the  planters  and  the  "  negro  quarters  "  in  the  back- 
ground. All  the  varied  and  characteristic  scenery  of  the  river  was 
depicted  by  the  artist's  faithful  and  glowing  brush,  but  although  it 
was  declared  at  the  time  that  the  genius  and  enterprise  of  the 
painter  would  be  honored  so  long  as  the  great  Father  of  W^aters 
continued  to  pour  his  tides  into  the  ocean,  the  picture  is  forgotten 
and  Mr.  Banvard  still  lives. 

IV. 

BANVAED  IN  BOSTON. 

This  remarkable  endorsement  of  Mr.  Banvard's  genius  as  an 
artist  came  from  Boston  and  was  uttered  by  a  Governor  of  Massa- 
chusetts.     Accordingl)-   it    is   not   astonishing   that    Mr.    i^anvard 


60 

should  speak  in  the  strongest  terms  of  the  heartiness  of  Bostonian 
appreciation,  for   Boston  not  only  passed  resolutions  in  his  honor, 
but  resolved   itself  into  a   public  meeting  to  do  it.      In   the  year 
1847   Banvard's   Panorama    was    exhibiting-   in  Amery   Hall,  and 
Gov.  Briggs  was  present  with  a  large  number  of  the  members  of 
the  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives.     After  the  picture  had 
passed,  William  Bradbury,  Speaker  of  the  House,  suggested  that 
the  spectators  organize  themselves  into  a  public  meeting  and  give 
expression   to    their    sense  of  the  merits  of  the  painting.      Gov. 
Briggs  took  the  chair  and    made    a    laudatory  address  in  which 
occurred  the  sentence  above  quoted.     The  resolutions  which  were 
adopted  were  equally  remarkable  for  hyperbole.      "  Extraordinary 
merit;"  "the   boldness   and   originality  of  the  conception;"   "the 
industry  and  idefatigable  perseverance  of  the  young  and  talented 
artist  in  the  execution  of  his  herculean  work  ;"   "  its  minuteness  of 
detail,"  and  "the  wonderful   illusion  of  its  perspective,"  are   only 
some  of  the  expressions  in  the  preamble  which  led  the  Bostonians 
to  resolve  that  "  as  Americans   it   is  with   emotions  of  pride  and 
pleasure  we  commend  this  splendid  painting  and  its  talented  artist 
who,  by  its  production  has  reflected   so  much  honor  upon  himself 
and  the  country  of  his  birth,"     After  this  the  press  could  not  fail 
to  be  unstinted  in   its  praise.     "  In  magnitude  and  grandeur  this 
painting  has  no  equal  on  the  face  of  the  globe,"  said  the  Times. 
"  One  of  the  most  living,  charming  things  that  ever  came  from  the 
hands  of  man,"  declared  the  A //as.      "It  cannot  be   fully   appre- 
ciated," interposed   the   Olive  BrancJi.      "A  masterpiece    both   in 
desio-n  and  execution,"  exclaimed  the  Post.      "Alone  in  the  annals 
of  art  as  a  marvellous  monument  of  the  patience,  daring  ambition 
and  genius  of  American  character,"  chimed  in  t\\&  Hej'ald,  capping 
the  climax.      It  is  no  wonder  Mr.  Banvard  was  grateful  toward 
Boston,  for  Boston   made  a  lion  of  him  while  he  was  still  almost 
a  lamb. 

V. 

BANVARJ)    ABROAD. 

But  Boston  went  further,  and  was  not  only  gratified  with  his 
"  truly  rational  and  intellectual  entertainment,"  but  wished  Mr. 
Banvard  a  favorable  reception  in  Europe  when  he  should  \isit  it 
As  a  matter  of  course,  Mr.  Banvard  could  not  fail  to  go  abroad 
after  such  an  introduction.     I'^or  four  years  he  busied  himself  exhi- 


Gl 

biting-  his  panorama  in  England  and  on  the  continent.  "  Nearly 
all  the  European  sovereigns  and  great  dignitaries,"  said  the  New 
York  Illustrated  News  in  1853,  in  exhibiting  him  in  the  Turkish 
dress  he  wore  in  the  East  while  taking  sketches  for  his  picture  of 
Jerusalem  and  the  Holy  Land,  "and  over  five  millions  of  other  persons 
visited  the  picture  of  the  Father  of  Waters."  The  cause  which 
led  to  his  adoption  of  this  costume  he  related  with  great  good 
humor.  "  When  we  crossed  the  Atlantic,"  he  said,  "  1  wished  we 
mio-ht  have  an  ocean  storm,  and  the  old  mate  said  he  had  often 
heard  persons  express  the  same  wish,  '  but  when  the  wish  was 
gratified  by  the  reality,  they  generally  made  another,  and  wished 
themselves  out  of  it.'  When  I  sailed  for  Africa,  I  was  anxious  to 
see  a  simoon,  but  when  one  overtook  me,  I  heartily  prayed  I  might 
be  out  of  it.  We  were  sailing  along  very  slowly  before  a  gende 
evenine  breeze,  near  the  Gebel  Sheik  Hereedce,  on  the  31st  of 
January,  1850.  The  sun  had  set  brilliandy  in  the  golden  sand  of 
the  great  Lybian  desert,  which  stretched  far  away,  bounding  the 
horizon  on  the  west;  the  night  had  set  in,  and  thousands  of  stars 
were  glittering  in  a  clear  atmosphere,  such  as  is  only  found  in 
Egypt.  Our  Arab  crew  were  sitting  idly  on  the  deck  awaiting 
the  order,  when  the  light  wind  should  die  away,  to  land  the 
dacharbccah,  and  tie  up  for  the  night;  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  the 
vessel  was  in  confusion,  the  riis.  in  his  loudest  tone,  gave  hurried 
orders  ;  the  men  hastened  into  the  rigging  ;  the  pilot  shouted.  I 
stepped  on  the  deck  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  tumult.  All  was 
dark.  I  had  hardl)-  time  to  cast  ni)-  eyes  aloft,  when  I  saw  our 
large  lateen  sail  clewed  up,  and  heard  a  rushing  sound  toward  the 
desert.  Our  crew  began  shouting  and  praying,  calling  on  Allah — 
some  smiting  their  breasts,  others  prostrating  themselves  on  the 
deck,  and  all  terror-stricken  and  in  confusion.  I  could  hardly  be- 
lieve my  senses,  when,  suddenly,  the  blast  struck  us  like  a  discharge 
of  artillery.  Our  vessel  quivered  with  the  concussion  :  the  masts 
gave  way  with  a  tremendous  crash,  and  went  b)-  the  board, 
careening  the  vessel  over  with  them  ;  the  water  rushed  in  the 
hatches  of  the  cabin,  when  she  instanl)-  filled  and  sunk.  So  instan- 
taneous was  all  this,  that  I  could  hardly  believe  we  were  sinking. 
I  succeeded  in  oettino-  on  the  side  of  the  vessel  when  she  went 
down,  but  my  companion.  Fowler,  was  swept  off  by  the  rush  ot 
water.  Fortunately,  he  seized  a  table  that  floated  near  him,  and 
succeeded  in  reachino-  the  wreck,  when  I  assisted  him  on  the  side 


62 

oi  the  upper  deck,  which  still  remained  above  water.  The  hull 
struck  the  bottom  in  about  two  fathoms — very  providentially  for 
us,  sinking  on  a  bar.  We  all  clung  to  the  portion  that  remained 
above,  and  were  able  to  keep  ourselves  from  being  carried  away 
by  the  fury  of  the  tornado.  All  this  time  the  Arab  crew  were  in 
the  waves,  holding  the  floating  spars  ;  and,  being  expert  swimmers, 
none  were  lost ;  but  they  kept  up  an  incessant  wailing  and  praying, 
and  the  name  of  Allah,  at  intervals,  could  be  heard,  mingled  with 
the  howling  winds  and  rushing  waters."  The  simoon  ceased  as 
suddenly  as  it  came,  and  Banvard  succeeded  in  saving  his  sketch- 
book and  his  trunk,  but  the  Arabs  opened  it,  and  not  only  robbed 
him  of  all  it  contained  but  of  his  watch  and  money  as  well.  The 
most  of  his  clothing  went  with  his  trunk  and  thus  the  Turkish 
costume  became  a  necessity.  "  It  was  a  capital  adventure,"  he 
remarked,  "but  I  told  my  friend  at  the  time  that  the  scene  would 
paint  up  well." 

VI. 

"  BATTLE  OF  THE  NILE:' 

These  untoward  adventures  did  not  deter  Banvard  from  prose- 
cuting his  voyage  up  the  Nile,  where  he  met  fresh  adventures.  At 
a  small  mud  village,  not  far  from  Thebes,  his  boat  was  attacked 
one  morning  by  the  natives,  when  a  hot  fight  ensued  between  the 
crew  and  the  beligerent  villagers.  It  was  occasioned  by  the  sheik 
of  the  place  attempting  to  seize  one  of  the  Nubians  attached  to  the 
vessel,  for  a  soldier,  as  an  order  had  been  sent  to  him  demanding 
a  certain  number  of  able-bodied  men  and  he,  being  unable  to  make 
up  the  desired  complement,  undertook  to  meet  the  demand  by 
sparing  some  of  his  own  people  and  seizing  one  of  the  crew,  when 
a  severe  fight  ensued — the  hands  on  board  fighting  manfully  to 
protect  the  boat  and  save  their  comrade.  They  succeeded  in 
beating  off  the  rascally  crowd,  taking  the  sheik  of  the  village 
prisoner,  who,  after  being  tied  to  the  mast  and  severely  bastina- 
doed, was  set  at  liberty  ui)on  a  sand  bar  in  the  middle  of  the  Nile. 
Banvard  humorousl)'  called  this  the  "  Battle  of  the  Nile." 

VII. 

A  HERO  OF  AfANY  BATTLES. 

The  battle  of  the  Nile  was  only  one  among  Mr.  Banvard's 
many  adventures.     When  as  a  boy  in   his  sixteenth   year  he  first 


63 

sailed  down  the  Mississippi,  the  flat-boat  in  which  he  made  the 
voyage  was  attacked  by  the  Murell  band  of  robbers  at  IMuml) 
Point,  and  ckiring-  the  conflict  lie  narrowly  escaped  death.  Once, 
when  he  was  exhibiting^  a  diorama  on  the  Wabash,  some  rooiie 
cut  his  boat  adrift  and  it  floated  down  the  river  with  the  audience 
aboard.  Not  only  was  Banvard  compelled  to  battle  with  wicked 
men,  but  with  the  elements.  Many  times  his  boat  was  stranded 
on  the  bars  of  the  rivers  or  lashed  with  the  fury  of  the  storm. 
While  making-  his  preparatory  drawings  of  the  b'ather  of  Waters, 
he  was  compelled  to  suffer  fatigue^  hunger  and  exposure  to  the 
rays  of  the  sun  and  the  peltings  of  the  pitiless  storm.  He  pulled 
his  own  skiff  more  than  two  thousand  miles.  He  procured  and 
prepared  his  own  food  for  over  four  hundred  days  while  making 
his  sketches.  Fevers  prostrated  him,  and  many  times  the  hand  of 
death  seemed  laid  upon  him.  Even  his  eyes  became  inflamed 
with  the  extraordinary  efforts  he  was  making,  and  it  w^as  many 
years  before  he  recovered  from  the  efforts  entailed  upon  him  by 
his  orreat  undertakin«f. 

VIII. 

WOODWORTH  ON  THE  PAINTING. 

His  drawings  completed,  Banvard  hired  a  room  at  Louisville 
to  transfer  his  pictures  to  canvas.  The  purchase  of  three  miles  of 
canvas  was  in  itself  a  vast  outlay  for  a  poor  man,  and  at  the  time 
he  was  so  poor  that  he  could  not  hire  an  assistant,  and  so  he  was 
compelled  to  mix  his  own  paints  at  night  after  working  all  day. 
While  thus  engaged,  Woodworth,  the  poet,  visited  him  at  his 
studio.  ''W^ithin  the  studio  all  seemed  chaos  and  confusion,"  his 
friend  wrote  to  the  Home  yoiirnal.  "  Here  and  there  were  scat- 
tered about  the  floor  piles  of  his  original  sketches,  bales  of  canvas 
and  heaps  of  boxes.  Paint  pots,  brushes,  jars  and  kegs  were 
strewed  about  without  order  or  arrangement,  while  along  one  of 
the  walks  several  large  cases  were  piled,  containing  rolls  of  finished 
sections  of  the  painting.  On  the  opposite  wall  was  spread  a 
canvas,  extending  the  whole  length,  upon  which  the  artist  was  then 
at  work.  A  part  of  this  canvas  was  wound  upon  an  upright  roller 
or  drum  standing  at  one  end  of  the  building,  and  as  the  artist  com- 
pletes his  painting  he  thus  disposes  of  it.  Not  having  the  time  to 
spare,  I  could  not  stay  to  have  all  the  immense  cylinders  unrolled 
for  our  inspection,  for  we  were  sufficiently  occupied   in  examining 


64 

that  portion  on  which  the  artist  is  now  engaged  and  which  is  nearly 
completed,  being  from  the  mouth  of  the  Red  River  to  Grand  Gulf. 
Any  description  of  this  gigantic  undertaking  that  I  should  attempt 
in  a  letter  would  convey  but  a  faint  idea  of  what  it  will  be  when 
completed.  The  remarkable  truthfulness  of  the  minutest  objects 
upon  the  shores  of  the  rivers,  independent  of  the  masterly  style 
and  artistic  execution  of  the  work  well  make  it  the  most  valuable 
historical  painting  in  the  world  and  unequalled  for  magnitude  and 
variety  of  interest  by  any  work  that  has  been  heard  of  since  the 
art  of  painting  was  discovered." 

IX. 

EXHIBITING  THE  PICTURE. 

When  the  panorama  was  to  have  been  shown  for  the  first  time 
in  Louisville,  not  a  single  -person  came  to  see  it.  Subsequently, 
however,  Mr.  Banvard  secured  the  presence  of  a  number  of  well- 
known  river  men.  and  their  testimony  to  its  merit  and  truthfulness 
brought  him  overflowing  houses.  It  was  successfully  exhibited  in 
New  York  and  Boston — everywhere  in  America  and  Europe.  It 
brought  money  into  the  purse  of  the  artist  and  led  him  to  under- 
take other  paintings,  and  finally  into  management.  His  name  will 
be  remembered  in  theatrical  annals  in  connection  with  Banvard's 
Museum,  and  his  skill  will  be  long  celebrated  because  of  his  magni- 
ficent production  of  the  ''  Sea  of  Ice."  As  a  manager  Mr.  Banvard 
was  not  so  successful  as  a  diorama  painter  and  exhibitor.  His 
theatre  which  belongs  to  what  is  known  as  the  New  York  Museum 
Association,  is  now  under  the  direction  of  Augustin  Daly,  the  first 
of  its  many  managers  to  make  it  successful. 

X. 

''PRIVATE  LIFE  OF  A  KING." 

The  book  which  brought  Mr.  Banvard  to  see  me  was  entided, 
"The  Private  Life  of  a  King."  It  was  claimed  to  be  a  contem- 
porary account  of  the  amours  of  George  IV.,  which  had  been  so 
successfully  suppressed  that  only  one  copy  of  it  remained,  that  in 
Mr.  Banvard's  possession.  At  the  time  of  his  publication  he  offered 
$i,ooo  for  another  copy,  and  although  he  received  numerous  letters 
describing  similar  productions,  not  one  that  was  genuine  was  forth- 
coming. Even  a  well-known  Nassau  Street  bookseller,  whose 
knowledge  of  scarce  books  is  proverbial,  believed  he  had  a  copy 
of  the  sujjpressed  work,  but  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  no  duplicate 
was  found,  Mr.  Banvard's  publication  failed  to  produce  the  sensa- 
tion which  he  expected.  During  the  last  few  years  Mr,  Banvard 
has  lived  in  a  retirement  from  which  he  recently  emerged  to  lecture 
on  the  obelisk. 


Ai'''  'y 


y 


i   \  *6<^- 


wm- '-^^ff-^i. 


i)  ^  '  ^'  i^^^'"'  _: 


ANNE    SEGUIN. 


ANNE     SEGUIN. 


A  Q  UEEN  OF  SONG. 

Probably  the  most  interesting  drawing-room  in  New  York  to 
the  votary  of  music  and  musical  history  in  America  is  that  of  Mrs. 
Seguin  in  West  Twenty-first  Street.  The  most  eminent  vocalist 
of  her  time  in  English  opera,  and  allied  by  marriage  with  a  bass 
singer  whose  equal  never  was  heard  either  before  or  since,  Mrs. 
Seguin's  home  could  not  fail  to  be  the  depository  of  many  precious 
relics  of  the  artistic  era  in  which  she  and  her  husband  were  the 
principal  attractions;  but  the  visitor  who  is  permitted  to  pass 
beyond  these  into  the  penetralia  of  the  Queen  of  Song  and  listen 
to  her  reminiscences  will  find  the  treasures  of  her  mind  even  more 
priceless  than  the  gems  which  adorn  her  walls.  This  is  a  favor, 
however,  which  is  reluctantly  conceded,  and  well  it  may  be,  for  the 
Arline  who  entranced  the  fathers  and  mothers  of  the  present  gener- 
ation is  in  feeble  health,  and  besides,  she  has  well  earned  her  retire- 
ment from  the  busy  cares  of  a  long  and  arduous  career.  It  is  now 
just  half  a  century  since  the  London  debut  of  her  husband  at  the 
Queen's  Theatre  and  the  twenty-ninth  year  of  her  widowhood,  but 
her  house  speaks  eloquently  of  a  happy  past  and  of  unsurpassed 
artistic  excellence.  It  is  not  in  one  branch  of  art  only  that  contact 
is  had  with  a  past  rich  in  memories  of  a  never  to  be  forgotten  epoch, 
for  Mrs.  Seguin's  father,  James  W.  Childe,  was  an  artist  of  such 
distinction  as  to  secure  a  sitting  from  a  person  as  eminent  as  the 
Iron  Duke,  and  in  her  apartments  is  a  portrait  of  Wellington  from 
Mr.  Childe's  brush,  while  a  copy  of  Harlow's  famous  painting  of 
the  "Trial  of  Queen  Catherine,"  with  Mrs.  Siddons  as  the  Queen. 


which  compares  favorabl)-  with  the  original,  looks  out  of  the  frame 
where  it  has  been  long  treasured.  In  another  frame  is  a  portrait 
of  Mr.  Seguin  in  his  tribal  dress  as  a  Huron  Chief,  while  in  still 
another  is  a  painting  of  Mrs.  Seguin  herself  Almost  girlish  in 
appearance,  she  is  surrounded  in  this  picture  by  her  young  family, 
and  it  was  with  extreme  reluctance  that  she  permitted  the  head 
and.  shoulders  to  be  copied  for  the  present  work.  It  was  urged 
upon  her  with  great  warmth,  however,  that  some  remembrance  of 
her  face  and  features  in  the  days  of  her  great  triumphs  should  be 
multiplied  for  the  admirers  of  her  genius,  and  being  persuaded, 
she  at  last  assented. 


II. 

MR.  SEG  UIN  AS  A  HURON  CHIEF. 

"  I  greatly  admired  the  painting  of  JNIr.  Seguin  in  your  drawing- 
room,"  the  interviewer  remarked  after  he  had  broken  down  the 
barrier  which  had  prevented  earlier  access  to  the  distinguished 
artist  in  whose  presence  he  at  last  found  himself  "  What  is  the 
character — it  seems  to  me  somehow  out  of  the  range  of  the  lyric 
drama  ?" 

"  He  is  in  the  dress  of  a  Huron  Chief,"  Mrs.  Seguin  answered, 
smiling.  "Mr.  Seguin  was  made  a  chief  of  the  tribe  at  Lorette, 
near  Quebec,  in  1840,  in  recognition  of  the  services  his  father  had 
rendered  the  Indians  when  a  deputation  visited  London  in  1821, 
and  they  wanted  to  make  me  a  squaw,  but  I  declined.  We  accepted 
their  hospitalities,  however,  and  gave  them  a  breakfast  at  which 
we  sung  for  them,  Mr.  Seguin  singing  '  God  Save  the  Queen.'  I 
never  saw  any  one  so  much  astonished  as  the  Hurons  were  when 
the  powerful  notes  of  Mr.  Seguin's  bass  voice  came  rolling  out. 
They  stared  as  they  had  never  stared  before.  In  consequence 
they  gave  him  the  name  of  H-gen-h-gen,  the  Great  Diver.  His 
voice  went  down  so  low,  they  said,  that  the)-  thought  it  would 
never  come  up  again." 

While  Mrs.  Seguin  was  speaking  she  took  down  from  the  wall 
in  her  apartment  the  certificate  of  her  husband's  adoption  as  a  chief 
of  the  Hurons.  This  paper  is  dated  August  19,  1840.  It  is  signed 
\)y  the  chiefs  and  is  in  Canadian  French. 


07 

III. 
JilUdUAl-UICAL. 

It  is  a  singular  commentary  on  the  transitory  nature  of  theatrical 
fame  that  all  the  biographical  sketches  of  Mr,  Seguin  are  exceed- 
ingly meagre.  That  he  was  born  in  London,  April  7,  1809,  and 
after  passing  with  the  highest  honors  through  the  British  Academy 
of  Music,  made  his  first  appearance  at  the  Queen's  Theatre, 
February  3,  183  i,  as  Polyphemus  in  Handel's  ''Acis  and  Galatea," 
and  afterward  appeared  with  success  at  the  Italian  Opera  House 
and  Drury  Lane  and  Covent  Garden  theatres,  is  the  only  informa- 
tion Mr.  Ireland  affords  in  regard  to  his  early  career.  With 
regard  to  Mrs.  Seguin  he  is  even  less  satisfactory,  and  he  does  not 
so  much  as  give  the  date  of  their  marriage,  an  event  which  occurred 
June  14,  1832. 

"  My  first  appearance  at  Drury  Lane,"  Mrs.  Seguin  said,  con- 
sulting a  bound  file  of  London  playbills,  ''was  November  10,  1S37, 
as  DoHJia  Anna  in  Mozart's  '  Don  Juan,'  but  my  debut  in  Italian 
opera  was  made  at  Her  Majesty's  Theatre,  Haymarket,  in  1836. 
At  the  Haymarket  I  sang  with  both  Malibran  and  Grisi  in  Chima- 
rosi's  opera,  '  Matrimonio  vSegreto.'" 

The  lady  dwelt  with  evident  pleasure  on  her  early  association 
with  these  eminent  artists,  and  she  talked  of  Malibran  especially 
with  enthusiasm,  turning  over  the  bills  one  after  the  other  to  point 
out  her  great  parts  and  grand  successes. 

IV. 

FAVORITES  OF  ROYALTY. 

"■  I  must  tell  you,"  Mrs.  Seguin  said,  as  if  suddenly  remembering 
a  fact  which  had  escaped  her,  "  that  with  my  husband  I  sang  at 
the  coronation  of  Queen  Victoria,  and  Mr.  Seguin  had  previously 
sung  at  the  coronation  of  William  IV." 

Numerous  newspaper  cuttings  extracted  from  contemporary 
journals  and  preserved  in  a  neat  scrap-book  attested  the  success 
of  Mr.  SeP:uin  on  these  occasions  and  of  his  wife  at  the  crowninjj 
of  Victoria.  Both,  it  is  evident,  were  favorites  with  royalt)',  Ijut 
both  early  in  life  withdrew  from  the  smiles  of  princes  to  court  public 
approval  in  a  land  where  all  are  sovereigns. 


68 

V. 

A  PARTY  AT  MR.  ATTREE'S. 

"Soon  after  our  arrival  in  America  in  1838,"  Mrs.  Seguin  said 
laughing,  "  we  attended  a  party  at  Mr.  Attree's.  It  was  at  that 
party  that  Mr.  Bennett  of  the  I/era/d  was  introduced  to  the  lady 
who  was  to  become  Mrs.  Bennett.  The  company  was  a  distin- 
guished one.  Among  the  guests  were  James  Wallack,  Mr.  Wilson, 
the  vocalist.  Miss  Shirreff,  Gen.  Morris,  an  accentric  but  brilliant 
man,  and  the  Mayor — I  forget  his  name." 

It  is  scarcely  surprising  that  Mrs.  Seguin  forgot  the  name  of 
New  York's  executive  at  the  time  of  her  arrival  in  this  country,  for 
it  will  sound  strange  to  most  persons  of  the  present  generation — 
it  was  Aaron  Clark.  But  while  she  forgot  the  Mayor  she  could 
not  forget  Mr.  Attree,  the  host  of  the  evening.  He  was  the  first 
and  for  a  long  time  the  only  reporter  on  the  New  York  Herald, 
and  although  very  eccentric  he  was  exceedingly  gifted.  In  some 
respects  he  never  had  his  match.  He  did  not,  as  other  reporters 
do,  take  down  in  short-hand  what  the  speaker  said,  or  even  make 
notes  of  a  speech,  but  was  accustomed  to  sit  and  hear  the  discourse 
like  any  other  auditor  and  afterwards  to  write  it  out  entirely  from 
memory.  Sometimes  he  reproduced  not  only  the  substance  of  an 
address,  but  the  address  itself,  word  for  word.  "  Before  Mr.  Attree's 
time,"  the  late  William  Gowan,  the  bookseller,  wrote  in  one  of  his 
catalogues,  "  reporting  for  the  press  in  New  York  was  a  mere 
outline  or  sketch  of  what  had  been  said  or  done,  but  he  infused 
life  and  soul  into  this  department  of  journalism.  His  reports  were 
full,  accurate,  graphic,  and  what  is  more,  he  frequently  flattered 
the  vanity  of  the  speaker  by  making  a  better  speech  for  him  than 
he  possibly  could  himself"  Although  it  is  not  surprising  that  Mrs. 
Seguin  forgot  the  mayor  and  remembered  the  reporter,  it  is  not 
likely  that  another  of  his  guild  will  he  in  a  position  to  entertain  a 
prima  donna  while  dependent  on  his  avocation  for  social  standing 
and  monetary  responsibility. 

VI. 

MRti.  SEiWIN'S  AMERICAN  DEBUT. 

"When  and  where  did  you  make  your  New  York  debut f"  the 
interviewer  asked. 


69 

"At  the  National  Theatre  in  Church  Street,"  Mrs.  Seguin 
answered.  "  We  opened  with  'Amelie,'  on  the  13th  of  October, 
1838.  Miss  Shirrefif  was  the  soprano  and  I  waited  for  a  suital^Ie 
contralto  part." 

"  Mr.  Ireland  in  his  '  Record  of  the  New  York  Sta_ire,'  says 
your  debut  was  made  as  Rosina  in  *  II  Barbiere  di  Seviglia.'  " 

"  I  think  he  must  be  wrong,"  Mrs.  Seguin  replied.  "  My  recol- 
lection is  that  it  was  in  the  '  Marriage  of  Figaro.' " 

As  Mr.  Ireland  gives  dates  and  casts,  it  is  probable  he  is  right, 
and  that  Mrs.  Seguin's  memory  in  this  instance  is  treacherous. 


VII. 

ARLINE. 

It  is  a  fact  universally  known  that  Mrs.  Seguin  was  the  original 
Arliiie  in  "The  Bohemian  Girl"  in  this  country,  and  that  as  the 
Gipsy  she  created  a  sensation  that  has  never  been  excelled  in 
lyric  art. 

"  I  sang  the  part  more  than  a  thousand  times,"  she  said,  "and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  public  never  would  tire  of  it." 

While  she  was  talking  about  it  her  face  suddenly  brightened 
and  it  was  plain  to  the  interviewer  that  a  more  than  usually  pleasing 
reminiscence  was  coming. 

"  In  those  days,"  she  remarked,  "it  was  the  rule  for  everybody 
to  go  on  when  opera  was  given — that  is  everybody  in  the  regular 
company  of  a  theatre  was  required  to  assist  in  dressing  the  stage 
on  opera  nights.  Among  our  enforced  supernumeraries  at  one 
time  was  Mr.  Lester  Wallack,  and  it  was  a  favorite  trick  of  mine 
to  take  him  down  to  the  footlights  and  tell  his  fortune.  He  was 
so  handsome  and  disliked  the  prominence  I  gave  him  so  much 
that  although  he  begged  me  piteously  not  to  do  it,  I  never  could 
resist  the  impulse  to  give  him  the  preference." 

In  these  remarks  Mrs.  Seguin  anticipated  dates  somewhat, 
"The  Bohemian  Girl"  being  first  produced  at  the  Park  Theatre 
in  1844,  ^"cl  Mr.  Wallack  not  making  his  debut  until  1847.  ^^  ^^'^^ 
consequently  at  the  Broadway  Theatre  at  a  still  later  date  that  the 
handsome  Mr.  Lester  became  the  victim  of  the  wiles  of  the  gipsy 
girl. 


70 

VIII. 

MRS.  SEQUIN'S  FJESl'  YEAR  J N  AMERICA. 

During  the  engag:ement  of  the  Seguins  at  the  National  Theatre, 
Mrs.  SegLiin  appeared  only  as  Rosina  in  the  "  Barber  of  Seville," 
as  the  Countess  in  the  "  Marriage  of  Figaro,"  and  as  Cinderella. 
Miss  Shirreff  also  sung  the  part  of  the  Glass  Slipper  heroine,  but 
she  could  not  compare  with  Mrs.  Seguin  in  the  role,  although 
possessed  of  those  nameless  coquetries  of  manner  in  which  the 
contralto  was  deficient.  In  the  summer  of  1839  the  Seguins  sung 
at  Niblo's  Garden  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  C.  E.  Horn  and  other  vocalists, 
alternating  with  the  Ravels.  The  same  year  the  Seguin  troupe 
appeared  in  Philadelphia,  beginning  with  "  Amelie,"  which  had 
proved  such  .a  great  success  in  New  York.  In  the  Quaker  City  it 
failed  to  draw,  probably  because  Mr.  Wemyss  at  the  Walnut  Street 
Theatre,  with  an  inferior  company,  had  taken  the  edge  off  it  before 
its  production  at  the  Chestnut  Indeed,  he  confesses  his  sin  not 
without  apparent  satisfaction.  "I  had  presented  it  sufficiendy 
well  at  the  Walnut  Street,"  he  says,  ''to  destroy  any  great  excite- 
ment ;  the  airs  had  become  familiar,  and  notwithstanding  the  full 
force  of  the  chorus  from  the  National  Theatre,  it  failed  to  draw 
money.  If  I  am  asked  for  my  proof,  heboid  it  in  the  fact  th'at 
neither  Miss  Shirreff,  Mr.  Wilson  nor  Mr.  Seguin  would  venture  to 
take  it  for  a  benefit.  It  was  one  of  those  fair  (unfair)  movements 
in  management  which  frequendy  overthrow  well-laid  schemes." 

IX. 

^VEMYSS'  APOSTROPHE. 

For  Mrs.  Seguin,  however,  Wemyss  had  only  compliments. 

"Delightful  warbler!"  he  wrote,  "  thy  friends  rejoice  in  thy 
success.  Each  succeeding  engagement  plants  thee  more  firmly  in 
the  hearts  of  thine  audience,  and  opera  without  thy  aid  loses  half 
its  charms.  All  who  remember  the  modest  diffidence  of  thy  first 
appeal  see  with  pride  the  prima  donna  of  the  American  stage  rising 
above  all  competitors,  cultivating  a  voice  whose  mellifluous  tones 
reach  all  hearts,  and  by  thy  correct  demeanor  in  private  life  gaining 


71 


the  affection  and  esteem  of  a  large  circle  of  acquaintances,  until  Mrs. 
Seguin  is  pointed  out  as  a  model  of  what  an  actress  should  be. 
Pursue  thy  career ;  and  if  life  be  spared,  thy  reputation  will  be  the 
envy  and  pride  of  the  whole  profession  and  the  plaudits  which 
greet  th)-  appearance  a  just  tribute  to  th)-  worth." 


X. 

BOSTON' f!  ENDORSEMENT  OF  THE  SEOVTNS. 

"  The  moment  Seguin  opened  his  mouth,"  wrote  a  Boston  critic 
in  speaking  of  '  Amelie,'  in  1838,  "  one  universal  gape  of  astonish- 
ment infected  all,  such  was  the  wonder  produced  by  his  magnificent 
organ.  At  the  first  close  of  his  recitative  the  most  enthusiastic 
applause  appreciated  that  pure,  legitimate  and  ponderous  bass ;  of 
large  and  even  quality,  his  distinct  enunciation,  perfect  intonation, 
and  such  a  body  of  tone  that  Lablache  alone  will  be  placed  above 
him.      '  My  Boyhood's  Home '  was  an  immense  sensation." 

Mrs.  Segnin  appeared  in  Boston  a  year  or  two  later,  creating 
an  impression  scarcely  second  to  that  produced  by  her  husband. 
She  not  only  exhibited  to  the  Boston  mind  great  versatility  on  the 
stage,  but  remarkable  tact  in  management  and  intense  devotion  in 
getting  up  the  operas,  frequently  rehearsing  and  directing  all  da)' 
and  sino-ino-  at  nio^ht. 

"  Both  were  clever,"  Mr.  Clapp  says,  "  and  taking  in  a  wide 
range  of  characters,  pleased  by  a  union  of  good  singing  with  appro- 
priate action  and  excellent  by-play.  He  was  probably  the  best 
actor  that  ever  appeared  on  the  operatic  stage,  when  the  character 
suited  him  and  he  was  in  the  vein.  Her  best  character  was  un- 
doubtedly the  Bohemian  C/r/ and  his  DcvilsJioof'xw  that  opera." 

XI. 

HANDSOME  TS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

"We  consider  Mrs.  Seguin  decidedly  handsome,"  wrote  aeon- 
temporary  scribe  of  the  period  of  the  accompanying  engraving, 
"and  yet  if  we  were  called  upon  to  point  out  her  peculiar  beauties, 
we  should  be  at  a  loss  to  do  so,  for 

'Tis  not  tlie  lip  or  eye  we  beauty  call, 
But  the  joint  force  and  full  result  of  all.' 


72 

If  the  lady  was  never  really  beautiful  she  was  always  recognized 
as  being  good,  and,  in  spite  of  many  sorrows,  her  life  has  been  a 
more  than  usually  happy  one.  Her  husband  died  in  1852.  Her 
son  Edward  Seguin,  the  younger,  expired  after  a  short  illness  at 
Rochester,  October  9.  1879,  while  travelling  with  the  Emma  Abbott 
troupe.  Of  Mrs.  Seguin's  children  only  one  survives,  Miss  Seguin, 
who  resides  with  her  mother. 

''  In  spite  of  losses  and  afflictions "  Mrs.  Seguin  said  to  the 
interviewer,  "  I  have  had  a  very  happy  life  in  this  country." 


XII. 
CONCL  rsioN. 


''We  were  concerned  in  the  first  production  of  many  original 
works  in  this  country,"  Mrs.  Seguin  said.  "The  '  Stabat  Mater' 
was  sung  by  us  the  first  time  in  America  at  St.  Peter's  Church  in 
Barclay  Street,  October  9,  1842.  On  the  fourth  of  June,  1845,  ^^'e 
first  produced  Fry's  opera  of  '  Leonora '  in  Philadelphia.  It  was  a 
great  success.      On   that  occasion    I    was  presented  with  a  silver 

pitcher." 

The  pitcher  was  inspected,  and  as  the  interviewer  was  taking 
his  leave,  Mrs.  Seguin  related  the  fact  that  she  had  seen  Mile. 
Caivi  in  the  "  Huguenots"  in  1841.  "Afterwards,"  the  lady  said, 
"her  company  came  to  laugh  at  our  producing  'Norma'  in  English." 
"We  can  laugh,  too,"  I  answered,  "but  I  may  say  that  while  we 
could  produce  Italian  opera  in  English,  I  would  never  dream  of 
bringing  a  foreigner  into  English  opera." 


J^    ~'^4lj. 


ALEXINA    FISHER    BAKER, 


ALEXINA  FISHER  BAKER 


I. 


THE  FISHERS. 


No  name  has  occupied  a  prouder  place  on  the  American  stage 
than  that  of  Fisher.     As  long  ago  as  1826  Clara  Plsher,  now  Mrs. 
Maeder,  made  her  American  debut  as  Albi7ia  Maudcvillc,  and  she 
was  followed   by  her  sisters,  Amelia,  who  also  survives,  and  Jane, 
afterwards   Mrs.  Vernon,  and   her  brother  John.      At   an   earlier 
date  even,  in    18 12,  Palmer  Plsher  and   his  wife,  afterwards  Mrs. 
Thayer,  appeared  in  New  York  and  gained  great  favor,  not  in  the 
metropolis  only,  but  in  Philadelphia  and  the  West.      Palmer  P"isher 
was  one  of  the  pioneers  of  the  drama  in  the  Southwest.      He  was 
a    most    useful   and  versatile   actor,  but   Mr.  Ireland   says  he  did 
nothing  so  well  as  in  giving  to  the  dramatic  world  a  daughter  who 
reflected  the   highest  credit  on   herself  and   her  profession.     The 
lady  alluded  to  was  Miss  Alexina  Fisher,  now  Mrs.  Baker,  who  is 
the  subject  of  the  present  paper.     Although  her  debut  was  effected 
more  than  half  a  century  ago,  Mrs.  Baker  is  still  a  well-preserved 
and  active  matron.      She  has  appeared  on  the  metropolitan  stage 
within   a   year  or  two,  and    may    appear   again,  and,  indeetl.  it    is 
within   the    recollection  of  most   playgoers  that   her  mother,  Mrs. 
Thayer,  disappeared  from  the  boards.      In  view  of  all  this,  no  more 
interesting  subject  could  be  found  by  the  interviewer,  and  the  meet- 
ing, which  was  arranged  through  her  son,  Mr.  Lewis  Baker,  of  Mr. 
John  T.  Raymond's  company,  proved  one  of  the  most  fruitful  of 
the  series.      Mrs.  Baker  is  at  present  residing  in  West  Ihirty-fourth 
Street,  and  it  was  there  the  chat  took  place  between  the  scribe  and 
the  actress. 


74 

II. 

AN  INFANT  PRODIO  T. 

"  My  first  appearance,"  Mrs.  Baker  said,  "  was  as  a  child,  in  the 
West.  At  that  time  my  father,  Alexander  Palmer  Fisher,  was  at 
the  theatres  at  Lexington,  Frankfort  and  Louisville,  with  Alexander 
Drake." 

"Where  were  you  born,  Mrs.  Baker?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"At  Frankfort,  Kentucky,"  she  answered,  "and  my  sister 
Oceana  Fisher  at  Louisville.  Whenever  children  were  wanted  in 
the  pieces,  we  played  them.  My  first  appearance  as  a  child  in  New 
York,  as  near  as  I  can  recollect,  was  at  the  Mount  Pitt  Circus,  under 
Gen.  Sandford.  The  season  was  a  disastrous  one,  as  I  remember, 
for  he  did  not  pay  salaries." 

"Mr.  Ireland  says  your  New  York  dcda/  was  made  at  the 
Chatham  Garden,  with  your  sister  Oceana,  as  y^i/w  and  Florior 
the  interviewer  interposed. 

"  It  was  at  the  Chatham  that  we  appeared  in  the  '  Children  in 
the  Wood,'"  Mrs.  Baker  continued,  "but  my  recollection  is  that  it 
was  after  the  appearance  at  Mount  Pitt.  After  my  mother  married 
Mr.  Thayer,  he  brought  me  to  New  York  again,  and  took  me  to 
Mr.  Hamblin,  who  was  then  the  manager  of  the  Bowery  Theatre. 
At  that  time  I  was  only  nine  years  old.  I  think  I  spoke  two  or 
three  speeches  for  him,  and  he  was  so  favorably  impressed  that  he 
gave  me  an  appearance  as  Young N^orval,  my  engagement  depend- 
ing on  my  success.  He  played  Old  Norval,  Mrs.  Hamblin  (Miss 
Blanchard)  Lady  Randolph,  and,  I  think,  John  R.  Scott  Glenalvon 
So  great  was  my  success  that  Mr  Hamblin  engaged  me  as  a  sort 
of  stock  star  for  the  rest  of  the  season,  during  which  I  played  Juliet, 
Little  Pickle,  and  many  other  parts." 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  Romeo  to  her  Juliet  at  that 
time  was  George  Jones,  afterwards  the  Count  Joannes. 

"  Did  you  appear  at  the  Park  about  that  time  ?" 

"I  do  not  remember  playing  at  the  Park  at  all  as  an  infant 
prodigy." 

III. 

OCEANA  FTSHKR. 

"  Mr.  Ireland  says  that  after  playing  as  a  child  your  sister  dis- 
appeared from  the  boards,  and  he  confesses  he  has  no  further 
knowledge  of  her,"  the  interviewer  suggested. 


75 


"She  is  still  living,"  Mrs.  Baker  said,  "but  it  is  true  that  she 
quit  the  stance  altogether,  although  she  played  with  Mr.  Baker  in 
California,  in  ICS52,  for  a  few  months." 


rv. 

TUANt^inON. 

"  My  first  regular  engagement,"  Mrs.  Baker  resumed,  "  was 
with  Mr.  Dinneford,  at  the  Franklin  Theatre,  and  though  I  say  it, 
I  became  exceedingly  popular." 

In  noticing  Alexina  Fisher's  appearance  at  that  house  in  1835, 
Mr.  Ireland  says  she  was  just  leaving  off  her  juvenile  personations 
of  Richard  and  Shylock  for  the  more  pleasing  assumptions  appro- 
priate to  the  early  springtime  of  womanhood.  Mrs.  Baker's  own 
account  of  the  transition  was  told  with  a  nervousnesss  of  language 
that  was  delightful. 

"  I  soon  found,"  she  said,  "  that  I  was  getting  too  big  for 
children's  parts,  and  was  not  big  enough  for  young  women.  In 
consequence,  I  was  off  the  stage  for  a  year  or  two,  but  even  during 
that  period  I  played  occasionally  in  such  parts  as  Arthur  in  '  Wil- 
liam Tell.'  " 

Miss  Fisher's  first  appearance  at  the  Franklin  Theatre  was  as 
Inuua  in  "  Adelgitha,''  with  Mrs.  Duff  as  the  heroine.  She  played 
Charlotte  in  the  protean  farce  called  the  "Turned  Head,"  when 
William  Rufus  Blake  first  presented  it  in  New  York  for  his  benefit ; 
Matilda  in  Buckstone's  amusing  comedy  the  ''  Breach  of  Promise," 
when  first  produced  for  the  benefit  of  Aaron  Phillips  ;  Virginia  in 
"  Who'll  Lend  me  a  Wife '?"  when  it  was  first  produced ;  Juliet 
Snooks  in  "My  Fellow  Clerk;"  Ellen  in  Barnet's  farce,  the  "  Yellow 
Kids  ;"  Theodosia  Tittup  in  the  burletta  "  Cupid  in  London  ;"  and 
I7^e7ie  in  Jonas  B.  Phillips'  version  of  "  Rienzi."  Mr.  Dinneford's 
company  was  a  very  strong  one,  and  included,  besides  Mrs.  Duff 
and  Miss  Fisher,  Mr.  Thayer,  then  recognized  as  the  best  of  light 
comedians  ;  Charles  W^ebb,  a  good  serious  actor  ;  William  and 
John  Sefton  ;  Mr  and  Mrs.  W.  R.  Blake  ;  Mrs.  Kent,  formerly 
Miss  E.  Eberle,  a  charming  soubrette  and  vocalist;  Miss  Amelia 
Verity,  pretty  and  interesting;  and  Miss  Gannon,  then  little  Mary 
Gannon. 


76 

V. 

IX  PHI  LAD  h'L  PHI  A . 

"  Mr.  Dinneford  was  anxious  to  have  us  remain  at  the  Frankhn 
Theatre/'  INIrs.  Baker  said,  "but  Mr.  Maywood,  of  Maywood, 
Rowbotham  &  Pratt,  offered  us  a  three  years"  engagement  at  the 
Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia,  which  we  concluded  to 
accept  The  Chestnut  was  then  second  only  to  the  Park.  I 
remained  with  the  company  nine  years,  until  the  dissolution  of  the 
firm,  and  then,  after  drifting  about  for  a  year  or  two,  I  went  to  the 
Walnut  Street  Theatre,  under  the  management  of  E  A.  Marshall. 
i\Ir.  Marshall  had  a  magnificent  company.  I  look  back  to  the 
manner  in  which  the  comedies  were  produced  under  his  direction 
as  something  that  has  never  been  excelled  in  theatrical  history. 
The  jjtisc  en  scene  was  not  equal  to  the  present  day,  but  the  acting 
was  superb.  Among  the  actors  were  Mr.  Burton,  Mr.  Blake,  E. 
L.  Davenport,  then  a  young  man  of  great  promise,  William 
Wheatley,  Charlotte  and  Susan  Cushman,  Mrs.  Blake,  my  mother 
and  myself.  The  plays  were  cast  with  all  of  us  in  the  piece,  and 
I  know  of  no  theatre  in  the  country  to-day  which  can  present  such 
casts.  I  remained  at  the  Walnut  eight  years,  and  thus  ended  my 
long  continued  service  in  Philadelphia." 


VI. 

2\.GAIN  IN  NEW  YORK. 

While  Mr.  Marshall  was  managing  the  Broadway  Theatre  in 
1850,  Mrs.  Baker  made  her  last  appearance  in  the  metropolis  as 
Miss  Alexina  Fisher.  Her  re-entree  was  effected  as  Beatrice  in 
"  Much  Ado  About  Nothing,"  with  Mr.  Wheatley  as  Benedick  and 
Mr.  Blake  as  Dogberry.  She  also  appeared  as  Mrs.  H alter  in  the 
"Stranger,"  Mrs.  Delmain  in  the  "Serious  P^amily,"  Lady  Gay 
Spanker  in  "  London  Assurance,"  Madeleine  in  the  "Orphans  of 
Paris,"  and  Mrs.  Crosby  in  a  local,  satirical  comedy,  entitled 
"  Plxtremes,"  written  by  Mr.  Sperry,  of  Baltimore.  The  comedy 
had  a  run  of  twenty-one  nights,  and  was  revived  after  Miss  Fisher's 
departure  with  Mrs.  Abbott  as  Mrs.  Ciosby.  This  engagement 
was  a  repetition  of  Miss  Fisher's  triumphs  of  fifteen  years  before. 


77 
VII. 

MARIiJED,  BUT  NOT  SETTLED. 

Alexina  Fisher  was  married  to  John  Lewis  Baker  on  the  third 
of  May,  185  I.  Mr.  Baker  was  born  in  Phihidelphia  and  made  his 
debut  in  his  native  city  at  the  Arch  Street  Theatre  in  1849 

"Almost  immediately  after  my  marriage,"  Mrs.  Baker  said,  "  I 
went  to  California  with  Mr  Baker.  We  started  for  the  Golden  Gate 
in  January,  1852,  and  remained  two  years  and  a  half  During  that 
entire  period  I  appeared  almost  every  acting  night.  We  reached 
San  Francisco  the  first  week  in  February  and  opened  at  the  Jenny 
Lind  Theatre  on  the  14th,  Mr.  Baker  appearing  as  Master  Walter 
and  I  as  Julia  in  the  '  Hunchback,'  Our  first  eneawment  was 
for  twenty-one  nights  and  proved  very  successful.  We  next  ap- 
peared at  Sacramento,  after  which  we  returned  to  San  Francisco 
for  thirty  nights  more.  A  second  engagement  at  Sacramento  fol- 
lowed, after  which  we  went  to  Nevada,  Grass  Valley  and  Placer- 
ville,  returning  to  San  Francisco  in  August.  Immediately  upon 
our  return  Mr  Baker  assumed  the  management  of  the  Adelphi 
Theatre,  where  he  was  exceedingly  prosperous  during  the  whole 
season,  which  closed  May  9,  1853.  The  profits,  if  I  remember 
righdy,  were  about  $30,000.  For  nine  months  I  appeared  nighdy 
without  interruption,  and  three  days  after  relinquishing  the  Adelphi 
Mr.  Baker  took  charge  of  the  American,  where  I  was  his  chief 
attraction  for  five  months,  in  the  Summer  and  Autumn  of  1853. 
Our  prosperity  continued,  and  my  own  popularity  was  increased 
rather  than  diminished,  and  this,  too,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  nearly 
all  the  time  we  had  powerful  rivals.  The  names  of  the  two  prime 
donne  who  were  in  California  at  that  time — Signora  Biscaccianti, 
a  Boston  girl,  the  daughter  of  Ostinelli,  a  musician,  and  Miss 
Catherine  Hayes — are  sufficient  to  show  the  strength  of  the  counter 
attractions." 

VIII. 

A  MU81VAL  MOMENT. 

The  epoch  of  the  Bakers'  sojourn  on  the  Pacific  Slope  was  the 
most  marked  of  all  the  "  musical  moments  "  America  has  ever  en- 


78 

joyed.  In  New  York  and  the  other  Eastern  cities  Alboni,  Sontag 
and  Thillon  were  the  dehght  of  the  lovers  of  music.  While  the 
journals  of  the  day  were  saying  of  Alboni  that  her  debut  in  opera 
in  New  York  was  the  musical  event  of  the  season,  and  declaring 
that  no  "musical  moment"  since  the  appearance  of  jenny  Lind 
was  so  anxiously  awaited  as  the  operatic  debut  of  Sontag,  they 
were  also  recording  the  fact  that  in  California  Catherine  Hayes's 
silver  accents  were  ringing  appropriately  to  golden  accompani- 
ments. So  great  was  the  Irish  prima  donna's  success,  that  in  1856 
she  lost  $27,000  at  one  time  by  the  failure  of  Saunders  &  Brannon 
of  San  Francisco,  Not  less  fortunate,  both  in  a  pecuniary  and  an 
artistic  sense,  were  the  Rakers,  and  when  they  took  their  farewell 
of  the  San  Francisco  public  in  January,  1854,  Mr.  Baker  was  able 
to  return  to  the  East  with  a  well-filled  treasury,  and  his  wife  with 
a  heightened  reputation. 


IX. 

MB.  BAKERS  CABEEB  AS  A  MANAGEB. 

"We  paid  a  second  visit  to  California  in  1858,"  Mrs.  Baker 
said,  resuming  her  narrative,  "but  that  was  for  a  short  time  only. 
While  Mr.  Baker  lived  he  was  most  of  the  time  engaged  in  manage- 
ment in  the  Northern  and  Southern  cities.  After  our  return  from 
the  Pacific  Coast  the  first  time,  he  had  for  awhile  the  National 
Theatre  at  Cincinnati  and  the  theatre  at  Louisville ;  and  upon  our 
second  return  he  went  to  New  Orleans  for  a  brief  period  and  then 
became  manager  of  the  New  York  Theatre  in  conjunction  with 
Mark  Smith.  That  was  in  1866.  Mr.  Baker's  last  management 
was  at  the  Grand  Opera  House,  New  York,  in  conjunction  with 
Mr.  Cole.  His  death  occurred  soon  after  he  relinquished  the  control 
of  that  theatre,  and  since  I  have  occasionally  appeared  in  this  and 
other  cities." 


X. 

FOB  TB  AITS. 


The  portrait  of  Mrs.  Baker,  herewith  offered,  is  from  a  photo- 
graph in  her  possession,  and  presents   her  as  she  appeared  at  the 


79 

time  of  her  California  successes.  Many  years  aq-o  there  was  a 
woodcut  of  her,  which  was  engraved  to  accompany  one  of  the  plays 
published  by  Turner  &  Fisher.  There  is  besides  a  very  good 
steel  engraving  in  a  work  published  in  California — the  "Annals  of 
San  Francisco."  These  are  the  only  pictures  we  have  of  a  lady 
who  has  filled  a  place  in  our  dramatic  history  scarcely  less  distin- 
guished than  that  occupied  by  Charlotte  Cushman  or  Clara  Fisher 
Maeder.  Strangely  enough,  a  portrait  of  her  daughter,  Mrs.  John 
Drew,  formerly  Miss  Josephine  Baker,  such  as  it  is,  ma)'  occasion- 
ally he  found  in  a  package  of  cigarettes.  In  after  years  this 
trumpery  thing,  now  generally  tossed  aside,  may  become  as  scarce 
and  consequently  as  valuable  and  interesting  as  the  prized  but 
ugly  woodcut  of  Mrs.  Drew's  mother,  which  is  only  to  be  found  in 
the  cabinets  of  collectors. 


XI. 

A    REMINISCENCE. 

I  have  in  my  mind,  as  part  of  the  half- forgotten  memorabilia  of 
a  critic  and  playgoer,  a  picture  of  Mrs.  Baker  as  an  actress  that  to 
me  is  more  precious  than  either  photograph  or  engraving,  and  I 
trust  it  will  prove  equally  interesting  to  my  readers.  I  never  saw 
her  on  the  stage  but  once,  and  that  was  at  what  is  now  the  Park 
Theatre,  at  Twenty-second  Street  and  Broadway.  At  the  time  I 
had  not  made  dramatic  history  a  study,  and  neither  the  fame  nor 
the  excellence  of  the  artist  before  me  was  known  to  me.  As  a  con- 
sequence, her  art  was  a  complete  surprise  to  me,  and  though  I  have 
forgotten  the  name  of  the  play  in  which  she  appeared,  and  the 
names  of  the  performers  who  appeared  with  her,  I  remember  her 
as  distincdy  as  if  it  was  only  yesterday.  If  I  chose,  I  could  readil)- 
ascertain  the  play  and  the  part,  for  the  occasion  was  within  the 
last  five  years,  but  the  memory  of  the  only  artist  in  the  piece  who 
impressed  me  is  still  so  vivid,  and  my  recollection  of  her  seems 
carried  so  far  back  into  the  past,  that  I  prefer  to  retain  nothing 
except  the  mental  picture,  which  will  not  fade.  To  reproduce  that 
picture  in  words  would  be  impossible,  but  every  reader  who  has 
gone  into  a  theatre  without  any  expectation  of  a  revelation  of  art, 
to  find  an  actress  belonging  to  the  class  which  is  called  great,  ma)- 
make  an  etching  of  it  in  his  own  mind.      In  her  later  days  I  refused 


80 


to  see  Charlotte  Cushman  in  her  decHne,  because  I  had  not  had 
the  good  fortune  to  see  her  in  her  prime,  but  in  seeing  Mrs.  Baker, 
whom  I  might  have  objected  to  on  similar  grounds,  I  was  satisfied 
in  a  measure  at  least  for  what  I  had  lost  in  the  days  when  she  was 
Alexina  Fisher. 


XII. 

THE    TIIAYKRS. 

Palmer  Fisher,  Mrs.  Baker's  father,  died  as  long  ago  as  1827, 
but  her  mother  and  her  foster-father,  Edward  N.  Thayer,  quitted 
the  scene  only  within  the  last  decade.  Mr.  Thayer  was  an  American 
by  birth,  and  Mrs.  Thayer,  although  born  in  England,  was  an 
American  actress,  her  f/ch?if  being  made  at  Lexington,  Kentucky, 
in  1820,  as  Jessie  Oatland  m  "A  Cure  for  the  Heartache."  Col. 
Brown  calls  her  the  Clive  of  the  American  stage,  and  says  she 
wore  Thalia's  mask  with  infinite  grace  and  glee.  Thayer  begun 
life  as  a  midshipman  on  board  the  United  States  ship  Cliesapeake 
in  181 2.  He  rowed  Captain  Lawrence  from  the  wharf  to  the 
vessel  just  before  the  action  with  the  Shannon,  and  was  taken 
prisoner  by  the  English  man-of-war  and  detained  for  several  months. 
It  is  to  him  that  Mrs.  Baker  owes  much  of  her  excellence  as  an 
actress.  As  we  have  seen,  he  first  brought  her  forward  as  an 
infant  prodigy,  though  it  might  have  been  said  of  her,  as  it  was 
said  of  Mrs.  Maeder  about  the  same  time: 

As  Fisher  flstonislied,  the  jn'ople  all  gazed, 
"  'Twas  wonderful  !'"  still  they  kept  saying  ; 

Foi'  my  own  i>art,  I  own,  I  was  not  much  amazed 
At  seeing  a  little  girl  i>laying. 


^^^  ip 


F.   W.   ROSIER. 


FITZ    WILLIAM    ROSIER. 


A  MODEST  MUSICIAN. 

In  the  near  future  everything  pertaining  to  the  history  of  music 
in  America   will   assume    the   utmost   importance.      Already  the 
founding  of  the  New  York  Philharmonic  Society  partakes  of  the 
legendar)'  character  inseparable  from  a  story  preserved  mostly  b)- 
tradition,  and  the   first   New  York  Vocal  Society  is  not  only  dis- 
solved   but    forgotten.      Long  as   it  is    since  these  organizations 
began  to  foster  musical  taste  in   the  metropolis,  a  number  of  the 
original  and  originating  members  of  both  still  survive,  and  of  these 
none  is  more  worthy  of  distinguished  consideration  than  the  hard- 
working but  modest  musician  who  is   the  subject  of  the   present 
paper.     To   the  present  generation   the   name  of  Mr.   Rosier   is 
entirely  unknown  ;  our  fathers  and  grandfathers  knew  him  only  as 
a  double-bass  player  at  the  earlier  Philharmonic  concerts   and   in 
the  theatre  orchestras  in   the   last   decade  of  the  last  half  century, 
but  for  all  this  he  is  especially  worthy  of  the  place  that  is  accorded 
him  in  this  gallery.      He  was  the  early  friend  of  Carl  Maria  von 
Weber ;  he  was  one  of  the  original  members  of  the  New  \'ork 
Philharmonic  Society,  and  the  real  founder  and  first  director  of  the 
New  York  Vocal  Society.      P'ew  men  have  worked  so  earnestl)-  or 
so  efficiently  for  the  promotion  of  musical  culture  in  this  countr)-, 
and  yet  none  has  reaped  so  poor  a  reward  for  his  labors,  either  in 
money  or  fame.      But  this  old  man,  worthy  as  he   is  of  the  tide  of 
a  modest  musician,  is  proud  withal,  and   it  was  with  something  of 
a  poet's  pride  that  he  turned  over  a  large  volume  of  old  music — 
German  songs,  to  the  words  of  which   he  has  adapted   the  music, 
and  the  music  to  the  words,  in  their  Plnelish  earb.      Mr.  Rosier  is 


82 

something  of  a  poet  as  well  as  a  musician,  and  many  of  his  transla- 
tions are  exquisite  specimens  of  the  English  lyric,  but  that  he 
should  be  poor  in  his  old  age  is  not  surprising  in  view  of  the  pay 
accorded  for  even  his  best  work.  "  What  do  you  think  I  received 
for  each  of  these  songs  *?"  he  asked,  as  he  turned  them  over  one 
after  the  other,  and  then,  without  waiting  for  a  response,  he  sadly 
answered  his  own  query:  "  Five  shillings  was  all  I  got  for  them,  and 
many  of  them  it  took  days  to  mould  and  fashion."  These  songs 
bore  dates  which  run  back  to  the  early  years  of  the  century,  and 
as  the  interviewer  looked  up  at  the  face  of  the  musician,  now  fur- 
rowed by  age,  he  made  a  remark  to  the  effect  that  they  were  the 
product  of  the  long  ago. 


II. 
"OLD  boney:' 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,"  Mr.  Rosier  answered.  "  I  am  not  so 
young  as  I  once  was,  but  I  am  glad  to  say  I  do  not  exacdy  feel 
old  yet.  I  have  an  indistinct  recollection  of  being  threatened  with 
an  abduction  by  '  Old  Boney '  if  I  made  any  noise  after  I  went  to 
bed,  and  I  clearly  remember  reading  to  my  father  the  account  in 
the  Times  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo  and  the  flight  of  the  before- 
mentioned  dreaded  though  somewhat  mysterious  personage." 


III. 

SELF  TAUGHT. 

When  "  Old  Boney  "  had  been  disposed  of,  Mr.  Rosier  pro- 
ceeded to  give  an  account  of  himself 

"Where  did  I  get  my  musical  education?"  he  said,  taking  up 
the  interviewer's  interrogatory.  "  I  never  had  any.  My  father, 
who  pla)cd  the  flute  tolerabl)-  well  for  an  amateur,  gave  me  one 
of  those  excruciating  instruments  when  I  went  to  school  and  a 
preceptor — not  a  person,  but  a  book — so  called,  by  a  man  named 
Wragg.  P>om  this  beginning  I  grubbed  out,  so  to  speak,  all  I 
know  of  the  divine  art.     The  fact  is,  I  think  ni)-  father  saw  plainly 


83 

enough  that  he  might  safely  leave  music  to  com(;  of  itself,  for  he 
gave  me  every  opportunity  in  other  arts,  more-  particularly  drawing, 
for  which  I  certainly  had  no  particular  genius.  Possil)l\-,  luid  he 
fostered  my  bent,  1  might  have  made  something,  hut  as  it  was  I 
never  '  worked  '  at  an  instrument  until  I  came  to  this  country,  about 
1840,  and  without  labor  nothing  can  be  done  in  music,  or  anything 
else." 


IV. 

CAUL  MARIA    VON  WEBER. 

"  As  you  spoke  of  Bonaparte  in  a  sense  so  peculiarly  English," 
the  interviewer  said,  "  I  presume  you  were  born  in  England?" 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Rosier  answered,  laconically. 

"And  as  you  were  so  idle  as  a  musician  before  coming  to 
America, '  the  interviewer  added,  laughing,  "it  is  possible  you  had 
time  to  cultivate  all  the  great  artists  of  that  day." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  the  musician  replied,  "  J  did  know  many  of 
them  before  coming  to  the  United  States,  but  among  them  all  my 
most  pleasurable  reminiscences  are  those  connected  with  the  im- 
mortal Carl  Maria  von  Weber  Our  meeting  was  somewhat 
romantic.  With  three  other  lads,  I  used  to  meet  once  a  week  at 
the  rooms  of  my  eldest  brother,  on  the  top  floor  of  a  house  in 
Adelphi  Terrace,  to  '  do  '  music.  It  was  next  door  to  the  residence 
of  Mr.  Hawes,  at  that  time  Master  of  the  Choir  Boys  of  West- 
minster Abbey,  St.  Paul's  and  the  Chapel  Royal  in  Buckingham 
Palace.  '  Der  Freischutz'  had  just  been  produced  and  a  new  era 
was  dawning  on  the  musical  taste  of  London.  One  evening  we  had 
been  'making  night  hideous'  by  playing  at  Weber's  piano-forte 
quartet.  A  lull  in  the  '  execution,'  which  was  doubtless  so  in  more 
senses  of  the  word  than  one,  was  interrupted  by  a  gentle  tap  at 
the  door,  and  in  came  the  maestro,  who  said  he  had  been  listening 
from  his  window  at  the  Hawes's,  and  had  come  to  pay  us  his 
compliments.  As  may  be  supposed,  we  put  off  the  completion  of 
the  '  murder  '  to  a  more  convenient  season  ;  but  we  listened  to  his 
playing,  which  was  to  us  a  revelation.  I  had  heard  the  great 
pianists  of  that  day — Moscheles,  Field,  Hertz,  Hummel,  &c.  ; 
Thalberg  and  Listz  had  not  arrived  ;   but  there  was  a  wild  pathos 


84 

in  the  style  of  Weber  that  seemed  to  speak  at  once  from  his  soul 
to  mine.  In  after  years  the  same  thing  was  produced  by  Chopin. 
These  two  were  the  only  really  great  pianists  I  ever  heard,  except 
in  a  concert  room." 

"  Did  I  see  much  of  Weber  ?"  Mr.  Rosier  asked,  repeating,  as 
was  his  wont,  the  interviewer's  question,  "  Yes,  indeed.  He  saw 
my  enthusiasm,  and  I  used  to  go  often  with  him  to  Covent  Garden 
Theatre  during  the  rehearsals  of  that  king  of  operas,  'Oberon,'  the 
only  one  the  libretto  of  which  is  poetry,  not  merely  words.  The 
reminiscence  of  my  acquaintance  with  this  truly  great  man  is  the 
most  interesting  of  my  musical  life ;  and  certainly  the  proudest  is 
the  finding  words  and  rhymes  to  a  work  of  his,  under  his  direction, 
called  in  English  '  The  Praise  of  Jehovah  !'  This  was  performed 
with  success  at  the  Musical  Festival  of  Manchester,  two  or  three 
years  ago,  and  first  published  at  that  time.  Though  only  an  ama- 
teur, I  was  allowed  to  play  in  the  Requiem  Mass  at  Weber's  funeral 
in  the  Roman  Catholic  Chapel  in  Moorfields,  London.  Seldom 
has  Mozart's  immortal  composition  been  done  with  more  effect. 
The  best  players  and  singers  in  London  assisted,  all  of  whom  were 
his  admirers  and  many  his  friends." 


V. 

DOUBLE  BASS. 

"On  what  instrument  did  you  work  after  your  arrival  in  this 
country'?"  the  interviewer  asked 

"The  contra-bass,"  was  the  response.  "The  principal  player 
at  New  York  at  that  time  was  Cassolani,  a  really  great  artist,  and 
as  he  was  preparing  to  leave  for  Europe,  I  was  ambitious  of  taking 
his  place.  I  remained  in  New  York  until  1845,  when  a  fearful 
attack  of  rheumatism  drove  me  South,  where  I  lived  over  thirty 
years." 

"Was  there  much  to  do  as  a  double  bass  player  at  that  time?" 

"  No,  indeed.  There  was  no  orchestra  worthy  the  name,  except 
at  the  theatres.  The  few  grand  concerts — they  were  all  grand  in 
those  days — were  accompanied  by  a  piano-forte,  and  generally  a 
square  one  at  that.  I  played  at  the  Park  Theatre,  under  the  man- 
agement of  Simpson ;    at    the   Bowery,   under    Hamblin ;    at   the 


85 

Chatham  ;  at  the  Opera  Mouse,  at  the  corner  of  Leonard  and 
Church  Streets,  under  the  management  of  Wilson;  and  for  a  short 
time  under  Mitchell,  at  the  litde  Olympic.  In  the  Summer  I  was 
at  Niblo's  Garden,  when  that  excellent  actor  Chippendale  was 
director,  and  the  very  clever  family  of  the  Ravels  was  the  chief 
attraction." 

VI. 

THE  PUILIIARMONKJ  SOCIETY. 

"  You  played  at  the  Philharmonic  Concerts?"  the  interviewer 
interposed,  inquiringly. 

"  Certainly,"  Mr.  Rosier  answered.  ''  I  was  in  that  famous 
orchestra  at  the  first  concert  of  the  Society,  and  for  a  number  of 
years  I  was  its  secretary.  Classical  music  was  not  understood 
or  appreciated  in  New  York  at  that  time,  and  when  a  new  work 
was  produced  it  was  necessary  to  explain  it  on  the  bills.  I  generally 
wrote  the  descriptions.  Many  of  the  members  of  the  Society  were 
of  the  opinion  that  even  an  explanation  of  the  music  would  not 
make  it  endurable,  and  some  were  in  favor  of  popularizing  it  by 
shortening  the  movements.  A  grand  batde  was  fought  over  this 
point,  and  those  of  us  who  believed  in  playing  a  classical  work  in 
a  classical  manner  finally  triumphed.  It  was  urged  against  this 
that  the  audience  would  leave  the  concert  room,  and  at  some  of 
the  early  concerts  there  was  a  good  deal  of  yawning,  but  in  a  little 
while  symphonies  and  concertos  became  the  fashion,  and,  as  every- 
body knows,  the  Philharmonic  concerts  are  as  attractive  now  as 
the  opera.  This  gratifying  fact  is  owing  to  the  battle  we  fought 
when  the  Society  was  in  its  infancy,  and,  indeed,  I  may  add  that 
the  Society  owes  its  existence  to-day  to  the  victory  we  gained  over 
those  who  would  have  debased  classical  music  to  a  level  with  the 
vulgar  taste." 

As  Mr.  Rosier  was  speaking,  he  took  from  a  venerable-looking 
box  a  number  of  bills  giving  the  programmes  at  the  concerts  of 
the  first  and  second  seasons  of  the  Philharmonic  Society. 

"I  have  no  longer  a  bill  of  the  first  concert,"  he  said.  ''The 
Society  did  not  have  one,  and  I  gave  them  mine." 

"  Where  were  the  first  concerts  of  the  Society  held  .^"  the  inter- 
viewer inquired. 

"Generally,  I  believe,  at  the  Apollo  Rooms." 


86 

Vll. 
NEW  TO  UK  VOCAL  SOCIETT. 

"You  were  the  founder  of  the  New  York  Vocal  Society,  were 
vou  not?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"That  is  an  honor  that  I  do  not  claim,"  Mr.  Rosier  answered, 
modestly,  "but,  in  recognition  of  my  labors  in  securing  its  organ- 
ization, I  was  made  director  of  the  first  concert.  That  was  in  1844, 
the  first  concert  being  given  at  the  Washington  Hotel,  in  Broadway, 
on  the  nineteenth  of  January.  There  may  have  been  singing 
societies  in  New  York  before  this  one  was  organized,  but  this  is 
the  first  one  really  deserving  of  the  name  of  a  vocal  society." 

A  rumbling  among  the  bills  in  the  venerable  box  before  men- 
tioned brought  to  light  a  programme  of  the  first  concert  of  the 
society.      It  was  as  follows  : 

PROG  R  AM  M  E. 
Part  I. 

Madrigal— "  Down  in  a  Flow'ry  Vale  " Festa,  1541 

German  Chorus—"  True  Sword  " Weber 

Madrigal—"  Sweet  Honey-Sucking  Bees  " Wylbye,  1609 

Septuor— Pianoforte,  Flute,  Oboe,  Horn,  Violoncello  and  Basso Hummel 

Messrs.  Scharfenberg,  Kyle,  Wohning,  U.  C.  Hill,  Loder,  &c. 

Madrigal—"  Out  Upon  It " 

Glee  and  Chorus — "  Shades  of  the  Heroes  " T.  Cooke 

8oh  Parts — Messrs.  Strong,  Milon,  Munson,  Leach  and  Kyle. 
Madrigal—"  Flora  gave  me  Fairest  Flowers  ". .  .• Wylbye 

Part  II. 

Madrigal—"  Stay  Limpid  Stream  " Marcuzio,  1580 

Glee  and  Chorus-"  When  Winds  Breathe  Soft  " Webkr 

Solo  Pr/r^s— Mrs.  Hahdwick,  Messrs.  Peterschen,  Watson,  Comer  and  Rogers. 

Madrigal— "  The  Silver  Swan  " O.  Gibbons,  1520 

Quintette — Flute,  Oboe,  Horn,  Clarionet  and  Bassoon Reicha 

Madrigal — "  Now  is  the  Month  of  Maying  " 


VIII. 

DOWN  IN  A  FLO  WERT  VALE. 

"  I   find   I   am  best  known,"  Mr.  Rosier  said,  turning  over  the 
leaf,  "  by  a  verse  I  wrote  at  that  time  as  a  sequel  to  the  madrigal." 


87 


As  the  old  man  gazed  fondly  at  the  offspring  of  his  muse,  the 
interviewer  jotted  down  the  verse  and  the  sequel,  and  they  are 
here  given  as  they  were  printed  in  the  original  programme  : 


DOWN    IN   A   FLOWERY   VALE. 

Down  in  a  flowery  vale  all  on  a  summer  morning, 

Phillis  I  met,  fair  Nature's  self  adorning  ; 

Swiftly  on  wings  of  love  I  flew  to  meet  her, 

Coldly  she  welcomed  me  when  I  did  greet  her. 

I  warbled  thus  my  ditty  : 

"Oh  !  Shepherdess,  have  pity, 

"  And  hear  a  faithful  lover, 

"His  passion  true  discover, 

"Ah  !  why  art  thou  to  me  so  cruel  '?" 

Then  straiglit  replied  my  jewel  : 

"  If  gold  thou  hast,  fond  youth,  'twill  speed  thy  suing, 

"  But  if  thy  purse  be  empty,  come  not  to  me  a-wooing.'' 


Sequel.— By  F.  W.  R. 

Soon,  as  I  careless  strayed,  fond  youth  with  eyes  averted, 

Phillis  I  met,  by  all  the  swains  deserted. 

Swift  she  ('tho  late  so  coy)  then  flew  to  meet  me  ; 

My  back  I  turned,  all  deaf  to  lier  entreaty  ; 

She  warbled  thus  her  ditty  : 

"Oh  !  Shepherd,  now  have  pity, 

"  And  to  your  faithful  lover, 

"Oh  !  your  passion  true  discover." 

Then  did  I  cold  and  haughty  view  her, 

And  thus  replied  unto  her  : 

"  The  love  that's  won  by  gold  will  prove  undoing, 

"  So,  since  my  purse  is  emptj-,  I'll  go  no  more  a-wooing." 

"  I   saw  it  in  print  not  long  ago,"  he  added,  "and  some  one 
asked  me  '  Did  you  write  that?'" 


IX. 

A  MUSICIAN  AT  HOME. 

Although  Mr.  Rosier  was  old  enough  to  be  frightened  by  the 
bugbear  of  Bonaparte,  he  is  young  enough  to  have  only  recently 
married  for  the  first  time.  His  modest  home  is  in  West  Tenth 
Street.  Here  he  lives  amono-  his  musical  instruments  and  his 
music  books.      His  walls  are  covered  with  portraits  of  celebrated 


88 

artists,  the  gifts  of  the  artists  themselves,  and  he  has  some  daguerreo  - 
types  which  are  vahiable  because  they  are  unique.  He  is,  as  he 
ahvays  has  been,  a  poor  man.  but  one  to  whom  enough  is  content ; 
but  it  is  to  such  as  he,  and  to  him  most  of  all,  that  there  is  to-day 
a  cultured,  music-loving-  public  in  America — a  class  which  did  not 
exist  forty  years  ago.  The  old  musician  still  works  at  his  youthtul 
occupation  of  turning  German  songs  into  English  verse,  and  of 
him  it  may  perhaps  be  said,  as  was  sung  of  the  silver  swan  at  the 
first  concert  of  the  New  York  \^ocal  Society,  in  1844  : 

The  silver  swau,  wlio  living  had  no  note, 

When  death  approached  unlocked  her  silent  throat  ; 

Leaning  her  breast  against  the  reedy  shore, 

Thus  sang  her  first  and  last  and  sang  no  more  : 

••  Farewell  all  joys,  oh  !  Death,  come  close  my  eyes  ; 

More  geese  than  swans  now  live,  more  fools  than  wise." 


■■('■ 


l<^  ^' 


S^«B5-afc%,, 


/' 


EDIVIOM    S.CONNER. 


EDMON    S.  CONNER. 


"  OUR   NED." 

For  many  years  a  familiar  figure  on  the  American  stage  was 
Edmon  S.  Conner,  but  in  his  native  city,  Philadelphia,  he  was 
especially  honored,  and  there  he  was  generally  known  to  theatre- 
goers as  "  Our  Ned."  He  was  born  September  9,  1809,  and  it 
was  intended  he  should  pursue  the  occupation  of  a  tailor,  to  which 
trade  he  was  actually  apprenticed,  but  becoming  stage-struck  in 
his  twentieth  year,  he  managed  to  secure  a  first  appearance  at  the 
Walnut  Street  Theatre  in  the  Spring  of  1829.  From  that  time 
until  within  a  few  years  Mr.  Conner  followed  his  chosen  calling 
assiduously  and  earnestly,  and  he  succeeded  in  earning  a  widespread 
fame  as  an  actor  and  amassing  a  modest  competence  on  which  he 
now  lives  at  ease  and  in  retirement  at  Paterson,  New  Jersey.  But 
even  now  he  occasionally  appears  at  the  Paterson  Opera  House, 
and  he  is  preparing  to  repeat  his  performance  of  Richelieu  for  the 
one  thousand  and  eleventh  time  as  these  pages  are  passing  through 
the  press.  The  Paterson  Opera  House  is  under  the  management 
of  H.  C.  Stone,  a  nephew  of  John  Augustus  Stone,  the  author  of 
"  Metamora  "  and  the  son  of  George  Stone,  who  was  a  life-long 
friend  and  professional  associate  of  Mr.  Conner  in  the  Philadelphia 
theatres.  In  the  house  controlled  by  the  son  of  his  old  associate 
the  veteran  tragedian  finds  a  congenial  retreat,  and  it  was  there 
the  interviewer  found  him  and  elicited  the  facts  which  make  up  the 
present  paper. 

n. 

MR.  CONNER'S  DEBUT. 

"  I  came  on  the  stage,"  Mr.  Conner  said,  "  at  the  Walnut  Street 
Theatre — the  same  old  theatre  which  stands  there  now — as  Young 
Norval,  for  the  benefit  of  Miss  Emery.      Although  a  very  )oung 


90 

man  at  the  time  I  had  a  large  circle  of  acquaintances  and  I  secured 
an  appearance  by  agreeing  to  sell  $200  worth  of  tickets  for  the 
beneficiary,  which  I  succeeded  in  doing." 

In  scenes  of  intense  passion  Miss  Emery  was  an  actress  of  great 
power,  but  her  abilities  were  never  fully  recognized  in  this  country, 
and  her  career  was  a  short  and  disastrous  one.  She  was  brought 
from  the  Surrey  by  Mr.  Wemyss  for  the  Chestnut  Street  Theatre, 
Philadelphia,  in  1827,  and  made  her  American  debut  as  Belvidera. 
Her  first  appearance  in  New  York  was  at  the  Bowery  Theatre,  in 
1828;  as  Bianca  in  "  Fazio."  Although  pronounced  by  the  English 
press  "the  actress  of  the  day,"  she  was  singularly  unfortunate  here 
and  in  a  very  few  years  was  unable  to  secure  an  engagement  any- 
where— not  even  in  the  minor  theatres.  She  declined  so  rapidly 
that  in  1832  she  was  living  in  a  garret  in  Anthony  Street  and  was 
sometimes  seen  in  Theatre  Alley,  back  of  the  Park  Theatre,  beg- 
o-inp-  from  the  actors.  This  wretched  existence  could  not  last,  but 
it  still  had  a  lower  depth,  and  she  finally  took  up  her  abode  in  the 
Five  Points,  where  she  was  so  cruelly  beaten  by  some  of  the 
vicious  and  drunken  denizens  of  the  locality  that  she  staggered 
into  the  street  and  died  before  she  could  be  carried  to  the  hospital. 
Her  last  appearance  on  the  stage  was  in  183 1,  under  the  name  of 
Mrs.  Burroughs ;  but  apart  from  her  powers  as  an  actress  and  her 
misfortunes  as  a  woman,  she  is  entitled  to  be  remembered  for 
giving  to  the  American  stage  an  American  tragedian. 


III. 

tLATING  AROUND. 

"  Soon  after  my  debnt^  Mr.  Conner  continued,  "  I  played 
Montmorenci  in  the  '  ^f  100  Pound  Note,'  at  the  Arch  Street  Theatre, 
and  then  went  West  to  Cincinnati,  where  I  was  engaged  under  the 
direction  of  Alexander  Drake.  Mr.  Drake  died  a  short  time  after 
I  joined  his  company.  The  celebrated  Mrs.  Trollope  was  living 
in  Cincinnati  at  that  time,  and  in  1830  brought  out  as  her  protege 
John  H.  Oxley,  who  subsequently  acquired  a  prominent  position 
on  the  stage.  P^rom  Cincinnati  I  went  to  New  Orleans  and  joined 
the  company  of  James  H.  Caldwell.  There  I  first  met  John  Gilbert, 
who  had  just  arrived  from  Boston,  and  who  was  then  like  myself 
beginning  his  career.      In  the  winter  of  1830  Mr.  Caldwell  divided 


91 

his  company  and  sent  the  section  to  which  I  belonged  to  Natchez, 
which  was  then  a  place  of  considerable  consequence  and  importance. 
Sol.  Smith,  N.  M  Ludlow,  R.  Marks,  Lem.  Smith,  Mrs.  Ludlow, 
Mrs.  McClure  and  one  or  two  others  comprised  the  company. 
From  Natchez  we  went  to  St.  Louis  in  the  spring  of  1831,  and 
subsequently  we  played  at  Cincinnati  and  Louisville,  returning  by 
way  of  Nashville.  After  wintering  at  Natchez  a  second  time,  we 
endeavored  to  repeat  the  journey  of  the  previous  year  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1832,  but  the  dreadful  cholera  epidemic  that  summer  broke 
us  up  at  Louisville.  As  a  consequence  I  came  over  the  mountains 
to  Baltimore,  where  I  joined  Tom  Walter's  company  at  the  Front 
Street  Theatre.  There  I  first  met  Charley  Thorne  and  wife.  From 
Baltimore  I  went  to  Richmond  with  M.  S.  (Nosey)  Phillips.  The 
Elder  Booth,  Thomas  S  Hamblin  and  Miss  Vincent  were  the  stars, 
and  T.  H.  Hadaway  and  Louisa  Lane,  now  Mrs.  John  Drew,  were 
in  the  company.  On  the  voyage  from  Richmond  to  New  York 
we  were  shipwrecked,  April  7,  1833,  off  Tucker's  Beach,  Little 
Egg  Harbor.  The  vessel  was  a  total  loss  and  we  barely  escaped 
with  our  lives.  Upon  my  arrival  in  New  York  I  joined  the  Bowery 
Theatre,  where  I  remained  for  a  season  under  Hamblin's  manacre- 
ment.  William  Wheadey,  J.  B.  Booth,  Jr.,  J.  W.  Wallack,  Jr., 
and  George  Jones  were  in  the  company. 


IV. 

COUNT  JOANNES. 

"  George  Jones,"  the  interviewer  interposed.  "  Do  you  mean 
the  Count  Joannes?" 

"Yes,"  was  Mr.  Conner's  answer. 

"Tell  me  something  about  him  as  an  actor  in  those  early  days. 
Was  he  always  the  buffoon  of  his  later  years?" 

"  By  no  means,"  Mr.  Conner  replied.  "  He  was  a  very  good 
actor,  indeed — an  excellent  juvenile  tragedian  and  a  good  light 
comedian.  The  Count  gave  us  all  lessons  in  fencing,  and  I  must 
tell  you  that  he  was  the  best  swordsman  I  ever  saw  on  the  stage, 
except  Charles  Kean.      He  was  a  glorious  fencer." 

The  last  adjective  was  uttered  with  a  prolonged  emphasis  which 
was  in  itself  a  tribute  to  the  Count's  accomplishments  when  Mr. 
Conner  first  knew  him  in  1834. 


92 

V. 

CONNER  AND  WEMTSS. 

"After  leaving  the  Bowery,"  Mr.  Conner  resumed,  "  I  went  to 
Newbern,  N.  C,  for  a  short  season  and  then  to  the  Wahiut  Street 
Theatre,  Philadelphia,  where  I  joined  F.  C.  Wemyss.  I  remained 
with  him  four  years,  I  believe,  and  finally  retired  only  because  of 
a  misunderstanding  with  the  manager." 

In  his  "  Life  of  an  Actor  and  Manager"  Wemyss  gives  an 
account  of  the  separation,  which  is  interesting  at  this  point. 

"  On  the  1 6th  of  September,"  he  says,  "Mr.  Conner  resigned 
his  situation  because  I  would  not  take  Mr.  Proctor  out  of  the  part 
Q>i  Gaiilantiis,  which  he  had  played  in  Philadelphia;  quoted  pre- 
cedents never  heard  of,  and,  if  allowed,  only  proving  him  to  be 
wrong  in  the  construction  placed  upon  them  by  the  usages  of  all 
well  regulated  theatres.  I  endeavored  to  combat  this  folly  in  vain  ; 
he  was  obstinately  bent  upon  carrying  a  point  which  in  the  relative 
position  of  the  two  actors  would  have  been  unjust  to  Mr.  Proctor 
in  every  sense.  I  had  taken  no  part  in  the  foolish  quarrel  which 
had  driven  people  from  the  theatre  in  disgust — hissing  and 
applauding  both  of  them  every  night — and  I  resolved  I  would  not 
now  interfere.  To  Mr.  Conner  I  had  resigned  my  position  in  the 
theatre  as  an  actor,  permitting  him  to  play  all  the  light  comedy  as 
well  as  the  leading  melodrama.  He  had  become  a  great  favorite, 
and  at  the  very  time  his  services  were  most  needed  he  thought 
proper  to  withdraw,  which  he  did  at  the  close  of  the  season." 

This  misunderstanding  occurred  at  Wemyss'  Pittsburg  theatre, 
in  1837,  and  consequently  Conner's  retirement  from  the  Walnut 
Street  company  took  place  in  the  spring  of  1838. 

VI. 

A   PHILADELPHIA    FAVORITE. 

"In  those  days,"  Mr.  Conner  said,  "I  was  certainly  a  great 
favorite  in  Philadelphia  ;  it  was  then  that  I  began  to  be  known  as 
"  Our  Ned."  I  was  naturally  cursed  with  versatility  and  played 
everything — tragedy,  genteel  comedy  and  melodrama — French- 
men, Scotchmen,  Irishmen,  Yankees  and  Niggers.  I  pity  any 
poor  actor  who  is  versatile — he  is  always  in  for  it.      It  was  my  fate 


93 

in  those  days  to  be  never  out  of  the  bill  and  in  parts  that  were  as 
wide  apart  physically  as  they  were  mentally.  Loti^^  Tom  Coffin 
'was  one  of  my  roles,  and  when  the  '  Pickwick  Club  '  was  brou-du 
out,  I  was  the  Fat  Boy  and  Jingle.  Wllliani  in  '  Black  Eyed 
Susan '  was  one  of  my  parts,  and  I  was  the  original  Mantalini  in 
'  Nicholas  Nickleby,'  which  earned  me  for  awhile  the  nickname  of 
Mantalini  Conner.  In  the  South  and  West,  a  few  years  later,  I  was 
everywhere  known  as  Richelieu  Conner!" 

Wemyss,  however,  does  not  endorse  Mr.  Conner's  opinion  of 
his  own  versatility.  "  Conner  played  the  Fat  Boy  to  admiration," 
says  the  manager-author,  but  after  confessing  that  he  persuaded 
Conner  to  play  Richard  III. ^  he  adds:  "  Shade  of  Shakespeare, 
forgive  me  !  He  did  it — and  did  it  brown.  The  pit  boys  were 
vociferous  in  their  applause  ;  and  he  played  it  on  one  or  two  occa- 
sions since,  when,  I  thank  my  lucky  stars,  I  was  not  present.  For 
Thaleba  or  Lafittc  I  want  no  better  or  more  efficient  man  ;  but 
the  idea  of  Conner  as  a  tragedian — don't  let  me  pursue  it." 


Vll. 

CONNER  AS  A  STAR. 

In  those  days  no  actor  could  be  a  star  unless  he  was  a  tragedian, 
and  Conner  had  resolved  to  become  a  star,  which  explains  Wemyss' 
spleen. 

"  Until  I  bought  Burton  out  at  the  Arch  Street  Theatre,  in 
1850,"  he  remarked,  "  I  travelled  through  the  West  and  South, 
playing  Macbeth,  Hamlet,  King  Lear,  Richelieit  and  Claude 
Melnotte.  I  produced  '  Richelieu  '  originally  in  most  of  the  Western 
and  Southern  theatres  the  same  year  that  Forrest  did  it  in  the  East. 
When  he  came  where  I  had  performed  it  before  him,  people  said 
I  played  it  better  than  he  ;  this  made  him  very  angry,  and  we  did 
not  speak  for  more  than  twenty  years.  The  '  Lady  of  Lyons  '  was 
first  produced  in  this  country  for  William  B.  Wood's  benefit,  in 
Philadelphia,  but  excepting  Wood,  who  played  the  part  only  once 
previous  to  my  undertaking  it,  I  was  the  original  Claude  Melnotte 
in  this  country." 

"The  Count  Joannes  used  to  claim  that  distinction,"  the  inter- 
viewer suggested. 

Mr.  Conner  laughed  heartily. 


94 


"It  was  said,"  he  then  remarked,  "that  it  was  first  played  in 
New  Orleans  by  Fredricks,  but  this  was  not  so.  The  Count's 
claim  is  scarcely  worth  considering." 


VIII. 

TWO  REMARKABLE  CASTS. 


While  Mr.  Conner  was  talking,  he  turned  over  the  leaves  of  an 
old  scrap-book  and  pointed  out  a  cast  of  "The  Stranger,"  as  the 
piece  was  played  at  Lancaster,  Pa.,  in  1839.  The  cast  was  as 
follows  : 


The  Strauger  E.  S.  Conner 

Mrs.  Haller Charlotte  Cusiiman 

Countess Susan  Cushman 


Solomon Peter  Logan 

Peter George  Stone 

Count H.  Hknkins. 


Mr.  Stone,  who  preserved  this  cast  and  in  whose  handwriting 
it  is,  adds  in  a  note,  that  in  that  company  at  that  time  Mrs.  Logan 
played  the  old  women  and  T.  B.  Johnson  utility. 

"Who  was  Peter  Logan?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"  Cornelius  A.  Logan,  the  father  of  Eliza,  Celia  and  Olive," 
Mr.  Conner  replied.  "He  once  played  in  a  farce  called  'Two 
Peters,'  and  ever  afterwards  he  was  known  as  Peter,  When  we 
played  '  The  Lady  of  Lyons,'  at  Lancaster,  at  that  time,  the  cast 
was  equally  remarkable.      I  will  give  it  to  you,  the  ladies  first " 

Mr.  Conner  then  dictated  it  as  follows: 

Pauline Susan  Cushman  Col.  Damas C.  A.  Logan 

Mad.  Deschapellc. .  .Mrs.  Logan  Beauseant H.  Hen  kins 

Widow  Mclnotte Charlotte  Cushman  Glavis J.  Homan 

Marion Eliza  Logan  Deschapellc Charles  Porter 

Claude  Melnotte E.  S.  Conner  1      Landlord George  Stone. 


IX. 

MR.  CONNER  AS  A  MANAGER. 

"  I  beiran  the  manao^ement  of  the  Arch  Street  Theatre,  Phila- 
delphia,  March  4,  1850,"  Mr.  Conner  said,  "and  retained  control 
of  the  house  three  years  and  a  half  The  opening  play  was  the 
'School  for  Scandal,',  in  which  I  played  Chailcs  Surface,  Mrs. 
Conner  Lady  Teazle  and  Thayer  Sir  Peter.  Our  first  farce  was 
'The  New  Footman.'  Mad.  Clarence  de  Merlin  sang  ballads 
between  the  plays  and  farces.      On   the    7th  of  March,  three  days 


95 

after  opening  the  theatre,  I  played  Richelieu  for  the  two  hundred 
and  sixtieth  time.  Mrs.  Conner  played  Francois,  the  Page.  After 
leaving  the  Arch  Street  Theatre  I  travelled  with  Mrs.  Conner  for 
awhile,  and  we  then  went  to  California,  where  we  remained  over 
four  years.  I  also  managed  the  Green  Street  Theatre,  at  Albany, 
for  two  years." 

It  was  in  1853  and  1854  that  Mr.  Conner  had  the  Albany 
Theatre.  In  a  recent  letter  to  Mr  H.  P.  Phelps,  published  in  the 
"Players  of  a  Century,"  Mr.  Conner  says:  "I  have  no  record  of 
the  Green  Street  Theatre,  and  only  painful  recollections  of  how 
my  poor  wife  and  myself  labored  against  loss  night  after  night ; 
but  let  the  past  be  passed  over,  for  I  have  many  friends  in  Albany 
whom  I  love." 

X. 

MR.  CONNER  IN  ENGLAND. 

In  1875  Mr.  Conner  went  to  England,  and  during  his  stay  he 
played  an  engagement  of  thirteen  nights  in  London,  appearing  as 
Falsiaff'm  the  First  Part  of  "  Henry  IV."  The  English  press 
spoke  highly  of  this  performance. 

"  I  play  all  my  old  parts  here  in  Paterson  as  well  as  ever  I  did," 
Mr.  Conner  said,  turning  over  these  comparatively  recent  English 
endorsements,  "and  I  feel  no  more  fatigue  now  than  I  ever  felt." 

It  was  reported  some  time  ago  that  Mr.  Conner  was  anxious  to 
undertake  another  starring  tour,  but  if  he  had  any  such  design  he 
seems  to  have  abandoned  it. 

XI. 

PERSONAL. 

Mr.  Conner  may  be  right  as  regards  his  powers.  In  his  youthful 
days  he  was  noted  for  his  fine  head  and  graceful  person,  and  to 
these  were  allied  unfailing  good  taste  and  excellent  elocutionary 
powers.  Although  an  old  man  now,  his  figure  is  still  lithe  and 
active,  his  bearing  erect  and  his  movements  graceful.  His  eye  is 
clear  and  bright  and  his  spirits  as  buoyant  as  they  were  twenty 
years  ago.  His  voice  is  strong  and  unbroken,  and  as  the  accom- 
panying portrait  shows,  his  face  is  free  from  wrinkles  and  reveals 
only  the  lines  which  denote  an  active  brain  and  the  possession  of 
strong  and  manly  qualities. 


96 

XII. 

MRS.  CONNBJR. 

"  Say  something  of  Mrs  Conner,"  the  veteran  remarked,  as  he 
walked  from  the  theatre  to  the  railway  station.  "  She  was  a  good 
woman  and  an  excellent  actress — kind,  accomplished,  gifted." 

Mrs.  Conner's  maiden  name  was  Charlotte  Mary  Sandford 
Barnes.  She  was  the  daughter  of  John  Barnes,  the  celebrated 
comedian,  and  her  mother,  Mary  Barnes,  was  even  more  distin- 
guished than  her  father.  Miss  Barnes  made  her  first  appearance 
on  the  stage  at  the  Tremont  Theatre,  Boston,  in  1835,  as  Aiigek 
in  the  "Castle  Spectre."  In  1843  •'^he  appeared  at  the  Surrey 
Theatre,  London,  in  her  own  play  "  Octavia  Brigaldi."  This  piece 
was  first  produced  in  New  York  in  1837,  and  although  the  scene 
is  laid  in  Italy,  the  incidents  on  which  the  plot  is  based  occurred  at 
Lexington,  Ky.,  in  1825.  Miss  Barnes  also  wrote  "The  Forest 
Princess,"  a  historical  play  based  on  the  story  of  Pocahontas,  besides 
many  prose  sketches  and  numerous  poems.  Mr.  Conner  married 
her  in  1847  and  she  died  in  1863.  In  one  of  her  fugitive  poems, 
"  The  Dead  Geranium,"  written  while  she  was  in  England,  she 
sang  of 

That  cottage  which  a  father's  taste 

Had  reared,  and  with  eacli  comfort  graced, — 

but  only  to  add,  sadly  and  sorrowfully  : 

The  flowers  bloomed  as  though  elate 
To  see  us  enter  al  the  gate. 
Us  ?    Yes.    My  mother  near  me  stood  ; — 
And  friends  were  with  us,  kind  and  good  : 
But  to  my  father's  home  once  more 
His  lifeless  form  alone  we  bore  ! 

Her  love  for  her  father  was  a  strono-  feature  in  Mrs.  Conner's 
character,  and  this  fact  suijeests  that  the  concluding  lines  of  her 
"  Forest  Princess  "  ma)-  stand  as  her  own  epitaph  : 

I  hear  my  fatlier.     Husband,  fare  thee  well. 
We  part — but  we  shall  meet — above  ! 


•% 


BENJAMIN   A.BAKER. 


BENJAMIN   A.  BAKER. 


THE  PROMPTERS  BOX. 

At  llic  right  of  the  stage  there's  friend  Baker  at  his  post, 
For  seven  long  years  lie  has  there  ruled  the  roast  ; 
He  now  seldom  acts  save  in  old  Hamlet's  ghost. 
For  he  is  kept  busj'  in  being  the  prompter 

At  Mitchell's  Olympic,  up  town. 

"I  rung  Up  the  first  curtain  at  Mitchell's  Olympic,"  said  Benjamin 
A.  Baker,  the  veteran  prompter  and  acting  manager,  "and  I  rung 
down  the  last." 

This  was  no  idle  boast,  but  a  worthy  pride  on  the  part  of  one 
of  the  most  useful  and  accomplished  members  of  the  dramatic 
profession  New  York  has  ever  produced.  The  remark  was  casually 
uttered  in  a  conversation  between  the  interviewer  and  the  distin- 
guished actor  and  dramatist  who  is  the  subject  of  the  present  paper. 
-It  was  peculiarly  happy  in  its  terseness,  but  it  is  more  than  terse — 
it  is  a  proof  of  long  and  faithful  service,  and  a  key  to  unlock  the 
treasured  traditions  of  a  remarkable  episode  in  theatrical  history. 
These  will  fill  a  volume,  and  as  a  consequence,  this  chapter  must 
be  confined  to  a  personal  narrative  of  the  career  of  a  man  whose 
mind  is  a  rich  treasure-house  of  dramatic  romance. 


II. 

A   NEW    YORK  BOY. 

"  I  was  born  in  Grand  Street,  near  the  corner  of  Eldridgc," 
Mr.  Baker  began,  when  requested  to  relate  the  facts  touching  his 
early  life.  "  My  father  died  when  I  was  about  ten  )ears  old,  and 
I  was  put  to  work  at  the  age  of  twelve,  ever  since  which  I  have 
earned  my  own  living.  I  was  placed  b)-  my  guardian  as  an 
apprentice  to  the  harness-making  trade,  but  I  had  a  mind  above 


98 

leather,  and  in  the  end  I  ran  away.  My  apprentice  days  were 
with  Smith  &  Wright,  at  Newark,  N.  J.,  and  I  was  with  them  two 
years.  When  I  left  them  I  went  to  New  Orleans,  where  I  worked 
awhile  at  my  trade  and  then  entered  a  grocery  store  as  clerk." 

III. 

STROLLTNO    DAYS. 

"  When  I  was  about  seventeen  years  old,"  he  continued,  "  I  was 

seized  with  the  wish  to  become  an  actor.     At  that  time  Richard 

Russell,  who  was  the   manager  of  the  Camp  Street  Theatre,  was 

about  to  send  a  company  to  Natchez.    I  applied  to  Charles  Parsons, 

the  tragedian,  afterwards  a  famous  Baptist  preacher  in  the  West, 

who  was  to  be  Russell's  manager,  for  an  engagement.    To  my  great 

delight,  he  engaged  me  for  utility  business,  and  I  shook  off  the  dust 

of  the   grocery  store,  shouldered   my  trunk  and  went  to  Natchez. 

Imagine  my  disappointment  on  reaching  there  to  discover  that  Mr. 

Parsons  had  entirely  forgotten  my  engagement !    As  a  consequence, 

the  only  place  that  was  vacant  was  lamplighter  to  the  theatre,  with 

a  promise  of  advancement.      I  was  compelled  to  accede  and  I  filled 

my  humble  place  acceptably  for  three  months,  when  m)-  opportunity 

came.      It  was  in  '  Rob  Roy,'  my  part  being  McStuart,  one  of  the 

soldiers.      From  that  time  my  advancement  was  rapid  enough,  but 

I  had  plenty  of  hard  work  to  do.     We  did  not  remain  at  Natchez 

very  long,  but  travelled  from  town  to  town,  Grand  Gulf.  Jackson 

and   Memphis,  carrying  our  own   scenery  with   us  and  fitting  up 

such  halls  as  we  could  find  so  as  to  make  theatres  out  of  them.    At 

Memphis  we  bought  lumber  and  built  a  slanting  platform  at  one 

end  of  the  room,  on  which  we  placed  benches  for   the  audience, 

while  we  used  the  floor  at  the  other  end  for  a   stage.     At  Grand 

Gulf  we  landed  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  I  was  compelled 

to  remain  alone  on  the  levee  all  night  to  watch  the  scenery.      One 

of  the  company  gave  me  a  pistol  for  use  in  case  of  an  emergency. 

This  frightened  me  more  than  the  actual  danger,  and  you  may  be 

sure  that,   boy  as  I  was,  I  was  glad  to  see  the  carts  at  daylight. 

Our  stock  pieces  were  the   '  Floating  Beacon '   and  the  farce  of 

the  '  Two  Gregories,'  but   if  we  remained  two  nights   in   a  place 

we   always  changed  the   bill.     We    were  not   afraid  to   give   the 

'  School  for  Scandal '  or  high  tragedy.       I  always   had  a  part,  and 

it  was  thus  I  took  my  first  lessons  in  acting." 


99 


IV. 

WALKING  GENTLEMAN  AND  ALL  THE  GHOSTS. 

"  How  long  did  this  life  last?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"  Only  one  season,"  Mr.  Baker  replied.  "  After  leaving  Russell 
I  went  to  Louisville,  where  I  acted  under  the  management  of  Mrs, 
Alexander  Drake.  H.  L.  Bateman,  the  father  of  the  Bateman 
children,  was  the  singing  juvenile." 

"Why  is  he  always  called  H.  L.  Bateman  instead  of  Henry  L. 
or  whatever  his  name  was  ? '  the  interviewer  in([uired. 

"Probably  because  it  was  Hezekiah  L.,"  Mr.  Baker  answered, 
laughing.  "  I  played  walking  gentleman  in  the  farces  and  some- 
times old  men.    There  I  again  met  my  old  tutor,  Charles  Parsons." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  him  after  he  entered  the  ministry? 

"  Oh,  yes,"  was  Mr.  Baker's  response.  "  He  came  up  to  me 
one  day  in  Broadway,  and  showing  by  his  manner  that  he  had 
half  forgotten  me,  he  said,  '  I  know  those  eyes.'  " 

"  How  long  did  you  remain  with  Mrs.  Drake  ?" 

"  Two  years,  during  which  I  played  among  other  pa.rts  Bra  dan  ho 
to  the  elder  Booth's  Othello^  and  all  the  ghosts." 

V. 

METROPOLITAN  DEBUT. 

"  And  where  did  you  go  then  ?" 

"Then  I  came  on  to  New  York,  making  my  first  appearance 
in  this  city  at  the  Franklin  Theatre  as  Lord  Staiiley  to  Booth's 
Richard.  I  was  at  the  Franklin  only  a  short  time,  and  then  I  was 
engaged  at  the  new  Chatham  Theatre  under  Willard  &  Flynn. 
There  I  played  melodramatic  business,  juveniles,  walking  gentle- 
men, everything.  I  remained  at  the  Chatham  about  six  months, 
but  in  the  end  there  was  a  little  difference  of  opinion  between  me 
and  the  management  because  the  salaries  were  not  forthcoming, 
and  I  quit.  It  happened,  however,  that  James  S.  Browne  was  to 
play  Robert  Macaire  for  Tom  Flynn's  benefit,  and  he  would  have  no 
one  but  me  for  Sergeant  Loiipy.  Missing  me  at  rehearsal,  he  asked 
for  me,  and  at  his  request  I  went  back  and  played  the  part. 
Mitchell  was  there  that  night,  acting  Baillie  Nlcot  Jarvic  in  '  Rob 
Roy,'  and  he  engaged  me  in  the  green-room  for  the  Olympic,  which 
he  was  about  to  open." 


100 

VI. 

PROMPTER  AT  MITCHELL'S  OLYMPIC 

"  My  best  part  on  the  opening  night  at  the  Olympic  was  To7n, 
the  honest  servant  in  '  High  Life  below  Stairs.'  James  S.  Browne 
was  my  lord  Duke.  They  had  the  laugh  on  me,  because  the 
honest  servant  gets  no  supper,  which  meant  a  good  deal  in  this 
case,  for  from  the  very  beginning  the  eating  and  drinking  on 
MitchelTs  stage  were  real.  I  also  played  Smart  in  '  No'  the  same 
night.  My  position,  however,  was  that  of  prompter  and  stage 
manager.  For  a  considerable  period  I  acted  regularly,  but  after 
awhile  I  found  my  duties  so  arduous  that  I  gave  up  acting  almost 
entirely." 

VII. 

"BOZ"  IN  THE  PROMPT  PLACE. 

"When  Dickens  was  in  this  country  in  1842  he  visited  the 
theatre  very  often.  He  and  Mitchell  had  been  intimate  friends 
before  either  of  them  was  famous,  and  the  latter  introduced  me  in 
his  dressing-room.  After  that  almost  every  night  '  Boz  '  would 
come  and  8it  in  my  chair  in  the  prompt  place." 


VIII. 
"AMY  lee:' 

"  What  was  your  first  effort  as  a  dramatist?"  the  interviewer 
asked. 

"  'Amy  Lee,' "  Mr.  Baker  answered.  "  Through  George  Loder, 
we  began  to  give  opera  at  the  Olympic,  and  as  *  Amelie  '  was  very 
popular  at  that  time,  it  occurred  to  me  to  burlesque  it.  I  thought 
I  ought  to  be  able  to  write  a  burlesque  as  well  as  Horncastle  and 
Allan — Northall  had  not  yet  begun — and  determined  to  try.  '  Amy 
Lee '  was  written  in  pencil,  but  when  it  was  finished  I  hesitated 
about  showing  my  work  to  Mitchell,  and  so  I  first  showed  it  to 
Wardle  Corbyn,  the  treasurer,  who  pronounced  it  splendid  He 
recommended  its  production  and  it  was  put  in  rehearsal  imme- 
diately. Everybody  took  hold,  and  as  all  the  artists  were  like  one 
family,  they  made  the  best  of  everything.      Mrs.  Timm  was  Amy 


101 

Lee,  Mary  Taylor  Lily  Morgan,  Walcot  Jose  Speckleback,   Nick- 
inson   Ajuiy  Blake  and  Everard  a   Cornet  in    the  Florida   War. 
Miss  Clarke  tended  a  peanut  stand.     She  did  not  have  a  line,  but 
so  great  was  her  acting  that  all  the  others  were  nowhere  beside 
her." 

"  Did  you  find  it  at  all  difficult  to  frame  your  first  piece?" 
Mr.  Pjaker  thought  for  a  moment  and  then  his  face  brightened. 
"  Not  until  I  was  nearly  done  with  it,"  he  said.  "  I  had  finished 
the  piece,  except  that  I  was  at  a  loss  for  a  finale;  but  one  morning 
while  I  was  making  the  fire  an  idea  struck  me,  and  with  a  pencil  in 
one  hand  and  the  poker  in  the  other,  I  may  say,  I  raked  it  out  of 
the  ashes." 

IX. 

0  TJIER   B  UR  LESq  UES. 

"This  piece  was  of  course  soon  followed  by  others  ?" 
"  By  many  others,"  Mr.  Baker  replied.  "  My  burlesque  of  the 
'  Bohea  Man's  Girl '  was  the  most  successful  of  all  my  pieces,  of 
which  there  were  seventeen  or  eighteen  altogether.  The  subjects 
of  my  dramatic  efforts  were  mosdy  the  follies  of  the  day,  and,  of 
course,  were  not  calculated  to  live." 


X. 
"Mose:' 

"  But  Mose  has  lived,"  the  interviewer  interposed. 

"  That  piece  made  me  a  great  gun,"  Mr.  Baker  answered, 
laughing,  "and  it  made  Chanfrau  famous  in  a  single  night  almost. 
I  struck  Mose  in  1848.  It  was  first  played  for  my  benefit  in  a  little 
piece  of  mine  afterwards  called  '  A  Glance  at  New  York,'  but  named 
for  that  night  only  'New  York  in  1848.'  Mr.  Mitchell  used  to 
give  us  a  week's  notice  of  our  benefits.  Mary  Taylor  was  ill,  and 
I  depended  on  Chanfrau  for  mine  that  season  I  had  promised  to 
write  the  part  of  a  fire  boy  for  him,  and  we  thought  that  my  benefit 
night  would  be  a  good  time  to  try  it.  I  made  Mose  a  rough  melon, 
but  sweet  at  the  core.  In  writing  the  piece  I  was  afraid  the 
Centre  Market  boys  would  take  offence  at  it,  and  to  satisfy  them 
I  put  the  pathos  about  the  baby  into  it." 


102 

"  Cornelius  Mathews  is  under  the  impression  that  Mosc  was 
taken  from  his  novel,"  the  interviewer  said,  anxious  to  draw  Mr. 
Baker  out  on  this  point,  especially  as  Mr.  John  E.  Owens  had 
strenuously  objected  to  Mr.  Mathews'  claim. 

"  I  know  that  Mr.  Mathews  is  under  that  impression,"  Mr.  Baker 
replied  ;  "  indeed  he  has  said  the  same  thing  to  me,  but  it  is  a  mis- 
take. I  had  not  read  'Puffer  Hopkins'  at  the  time  I  wrote  'A 
Glance  at  New  York '  The  only  suggestions  which  were  drawn 
from  any  extraneous  source  were  the  cellar  scene  and  the  part  of 
Major  Gates,  the  hint  for  which  I  took  from  '  102  Broadway,'  by 
William  Henry  Herbert.  I  never  took  the  trouble  to  correct  Mr. 
Mathews'  mistake,  and  there  are  other  claims  in  regard  to  the  piece 
which  are  equally  without  foundation.  For  instance,  I  saw  not 
long  ago  that  one  of  the  papers  spoke  of  the  death  of  the  original 
of  Mosc — Mose  Humphreys,  who  died  recently  in  the  Sandwich 
Islands.  He  always  claimed  to  be  the  original,  but  I  never  thought 
of  him  either  in  writing  or  naming  the  part.  Indeed,  most  of  the 
parts  were  not  named  until  after  it  was  determined  that  the  play 
should  be  called  a  '  Glance  at  New  York,'  and  the  piece,  when  it 
had  been  rewritten  after  its  first  production  for  my  benefit,  was  not 
rechristened  until  it  had  been  in  rehearsal  some  time.  Afterwards 
I  wrote  for  the  Chatham  Theatre  another  piece  with  the  character 
oi  Mose  in  it,  which  I  called  'New  York  as  It  Is.'  It  was  entirely 
different  from  a  '  Glance  at  New  York,'  but  it  was  in  the  same 
style." 

"How  about  its  production  in  Philadelphia?"  the  interviewer 
asked. 

"  Burton  wanted  to  do  the  piece  at  the  Arch  Street  Theatre, 
and  he  brought  John  E.  Owens,  who  was  his  comedian,  to  the 
Olympic  to  see  it.  The  house  was  so  full  that  night  that  I  had  to 
give  Owens  a  seat  in  the  orchestra.  After  the  performance  Burton 
gave  me  $25,  the  usual  price  for  pieces  in  those  days — twenty- 
five  dollars  was  a  pile  of  money  then — and  I  furnished  him  with 
a  copy." 

XI. 

TALENT  AND    ENCOURAGEMENT. 

Mr.  Baker's  face  assumed  a  serious  expression  and  he  began 
to  muse. 


.    10.3 

'•  I  had  excellent  talent,"  he  then  said,  "  to  sustain  me  in  my 
efforts  as  a  dramatist — Walcot,  Nickinson,  Mary  Taylor,  Miss 
Clarke.  All  of  these  were  great  favorites  in  their  day,  and  de- 
servedly so,  for  they  were  always  perfect  in  anything  they  attempted. 
Not  only  before  the  public,  but  at  rehearsal  and  in  private,  they  did 
everything  in  their  power  to  encourage  mc  in  my  attempts  at 
dramatic  writing.  But  I  had  friends  and  encouragement  in  literary 
as  well  as  theatrical  circles.  Fitz  Greene  Halleck  especially  took 
a  great  deal  of  interest  in  my  work.  He  often  came  behind  the 
scenes  to  see  me,  and  he  used  to  call  me  'a  brother  author.'" 


XII. 

MR.  BAKER  IN  BOSTON. 

"Where  did  you  go  after  the  Olympic  closed?"  the  interviewer 
asked. 

"To  Boston,"  was  the  answer,  "where,  in  conjunction  with  \V. 
B.  English,  I  leased  the  Howard  Atheneum.  We  closed  the  house 
after  a  season  of  six  months,  during  which  I  managed  to  lose  all 
the  mone)^  I  had"  saved.  It  was  a  disastrous  season,  especially  in 
Boston,  which  could  not  support  more  than  one  attraction  at  a 
time.  Jenny  Lind  was  then  in  the  zenith  of  her  power,  and  instead 
of  staying  three  nights,  as  was  originally  intended,  she  remained 
three  weeks.  This  was  a  heav)'  blow  for  me.  I  was  playing 
Charlotte  Cushman  at  the  time  for  half  the  house,  and  she  did  a 
very  bad  business — next  to  nothing,  in  fact. 


ii 


XIII. 

WANDERING. 

"Where  did  you  go  next?" 

"  I  went  travelling  through  the  New  England  States  and  suc- 
ceeded, in  part  at  least,  in  retrieving  my  Boston  losses.  Then  I 
came  back  to  New  York,  and  soon  afterwards  I  went  to  Wash- 
ington as  stage  manager  for  E.  A.  Marshall.  Subsequently  I  was 
in  business  in  Lewis  Street,  having  an  interest  in  the  New  York 
City  Hour  Mills,  but  the  confinement  and  worr)-  did  not  suit  me, 
and  having  an  offer  from  Mrs.  Sinclair  (Mrs.  Forrest)  for  California, 


104 

I  went  there.  When  I  arrived  in  San  Francisco  I  toiind  that  her 
mirror  was  not  as  bright  as  it  had  been  poHshed — her  fortunes 
were  on  the  wane.  After  being  with  her  three  months  I  engaged 
with  Samuel  Colville  for  Sacramento.  There  I  remained  during 
the  season,  which  was  very  profitable.  We  had  all  the  stars — 
Barney  Williams.  Laura  Keene,  Mrs.  Sinclair  and  the  rest.  Sub- 
sequently, in  conjunction  with  Laura  Keene  and  Joseph  French, 
I  leased  the  Metropolitan  Theatre  in  Montgomery  Street,  San 
Francisco,  and  we  had  a  successful  season.  Going  back  to  Sacra- 
mento with  Thomas  Maguire,  I  met  Edwin  Booth  on  his  return 
from  Australia.  It  was  suggested  that  he  should  come  to  the 
States  as  a  star,  and  I  travelled  with  him  two  years  as  his  business 
manager.  Since  then  a  good  many  years  have  elapsed — years  of 
hardship  and  toil — but  I  am  still  willing  and  ready  and  able  to 
work." 


XIV. 

RETROSPECTTYK. 

It  will  be  observed  that  Mr.  Baker's  reminiscences  extend  back 
over  a  long  period,  but  he  began  his  career  as  a  very  young  man, 
and  he  was  Mitchell's  stage  manager  almost  before  he  had  attained 
his  majority.  As  early  as  1846,  when  the  verse  above  quoted  was 
written  as  part  of  the  anniversary  ode  for  that  year  at  the  Olympic, 
it  was  said  of  him — 

He  now  seldom  acts  save  in  old  Flamlet's  ghost— 

but  from  his  youth  up  he  was  noted  for  an  agreeable  temper,  united 
with  firmness  and  impartiality.  These  distinguishing  traits  of 
character  have  been  preserved,  and  until  this  day  he  has  maintained 
his  popularity  with  the  profession. 


ANNA      BISHOP. 


ANNA     BISHOP. 


►♦»■  ♦  ♦-  <»« 


A  TRAVELLER,  LTNGUIST  AND  CANTATRICE. 

In  her  apartments  at  the  Hotel  Bristol  in  Eleventh  Street,  the 
interviewer  found  a  lady  who  is  not  only  a  renowned  cantatrice, 
but  the  greatest  female  traveller  now  living.  During  her  profes- 
sional career  she  haa  visited  every  part  of  the  habitable  globe,  and 
has  sung  before  more,  and  more  diversified,  audiences  than  any 
artiste  who  went  before  her,  or  has  been  cotemporary  with  her. 
She  is  an  accomplished  hnguist,  too,  and  has  sung  to  audiences  in 
their  own  tongue  in  ever)-  part  of  the  world.  Everywhere  that 
she  went  she  sang  in  the  language  of  the  people — a  Danish  ballad 
at  Copenhagen  ;  the  Swedish  national  airs  at  Stockholm  ;  in  Rus- 
sian at  the  soirees  of  Prince  Youssopoff;  in  German  at  V'ienna; 
in  Italian  at  Venice,  Rome  and  Florence  ;  in  French  at  Paris,  and 
in  English  at  London  and  New  York.  Such  varied  accomplish- 
ments and  achievements  could  not  well  belong  to  more  than  one 
person,  and  it  seems  almost  unnecessar)-  to  mention  that  her  name 
is  Madame  Anna  Bishop. 


II. 

HER  EARLY  MUSICAL  TRAIXIXG. 

"I  was  born  in  London,"  Madame  Bishop  said,  "and  ni)- 
family  being  in  affluent  circumstances,  it  was  determined  that  I 
should  receive  a  thoroucfh   musical   education,  even   before  it  was 


10(5 


suspected  that  I  would  be  able  to  convince  the  world  that  I  had  a 
voice.  I  was  destined  by  my  parents  for  the  piano- forte,  and  was 
entered  at  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music,  where  I  made  considerable 
progress  on  that  instrument.  Subsequently  I  was  confided  to  the 
care  of  M.  Moscheles,  under  whose  guidance  I  made  rapid  and,  1 
think  I  may  sa)-,  distinguished  progress.  While  I  was  under- 
going the  severe  training  necessary  to  the  instrument  which  had 
been  chosen  for  me,  my  voice  was  not  neglected,  and  it  developed 
into  a  pure  and  expressive  soprano  that  surprised  my  friends.  Its 
flexibility  and  power  were  especially  attractive,  and  it  was  deter- 
mined to  brinLT  me  forward  at  the  Ancient  and  Philharmonic  Con- 
certs.  Up  to  that  time  I  had  given  no  attention  to  the  modern 
Italian  school  of  music,  and  I  sang  only  the  classical  compositions 
of  Handel,  Haydn,  Mozart  and  Beethoven.  These  masters  I  under- 
took to  interpret  at  the  musical  festivals  at  the  cathedral  towns  of 
Gloucester,  Worcester,  York  and  Hereford,  my  success  leading  me 
to  the  study  of  music  better  adapted  to  the  concert  stage." 


III. 

DEB  UT. 

"My  dchiit  in  this  kind  of  music,"  she  continued,  '' was  at  a 
concert  at  Her  Majesty's  Theatre  in  London,  in  July,  1 839.  Garcia, 
Persiana,  Rubini,  Tambourini,  Mario  and  Lablache,  all  sang  at 
that  concert,  and  the  instrumentalists  were  Thalberg,  Dohler.  Puzzi 
and  Bochsa.  with  Costa  as  the  conductor.  It  was  a  dangerous 
experiment  in  a  )Oung  and  untried  girl,  as  I  then  was,  buj:  the 
critics  said  I  was  not  eclipsed  by  this  galaxy  of  talent,  and  I  was 
accorded  a  triumphant  success." 


IV. 

MADAME  lUSnoP'S  FlliST  TOUI!. 

"This  determined  my  career,  and  soon  afterwards  I  started  on 
m>-  first  artistic  tour,  and  it  proved  so  successful  that  it  was  not 
completed  for  several  years.      I  visited  Denmark,  Sweden,  Russia, 


10( 


Moldavia,  Austria,  Tlungary  and  Bavaria,  sinj^iiiL,^  in  all   the  prin- 
cipal cities  and  surprising  the  natives  everywhere  by  giving  them 
something  in  their  own  language.       Even  at  Kasan,  the  capital  of 
Tartary,  where  no  singer  had  ever  gone  before,  I  ventured  to  give 
the  national  airs  of  the  country  in  the  original  Tartar.      It  was  in 
October,  1839.  that  I  reached  Copenhagen,  where  I  gave  ten  con- 
certs at  the  Theatre  Royal  and  nine  soirees  at  the  Palace.     At 
Stockholm,  although  the   great   Swedish    nightingale  Jenu)-  Lind 
was  then  in  the  height  of  her  popularity,  my  first  concert  was  so 
successful  that  the  next  day  every  place  in  the  house  from  parterre 
to  gallery  was  taken  for  the  four  remaining  concerts.     Extra  places 
on  the  staee  were  contrived,  and  these,  too,  were  all  taken.    Con- 
tinning  my  tour,  I  reached  St.  Petersburg  in   May,  1840.      I  re- 
mained in   the   Russian    capital   more   than  a  year.       I  frequendy 
sang  before  the  Imperial  Court  and  at  the  private  concerts  of  the 
nobility.      Nothing,  the  Russians  said,  could  be  compared  to  the 
charm  with  which  I  invested  their  national  airs  and  melodies,  and 
these    created    a   furore   whenever  and    wherever    I   sang  them. 
Leaving  St.  Petersburg,  I  sang  at  Derpat,  Riga  and  Mirtau,  and 
then  gave  eight  concerts  at   Moscow,  where  I    subsequendy  ap- 
peared as  Alice  \\\  *  Robert  le  Diable,'  in  the  Russian  language. 
Prom  Moscow  I  went  in  June,  1 841,  to  Nijny  Novgorod;  and  from 
thence  to  Kasan,  the  capital  of  Tartary.     In   November,  1841.  I 
was  at  Odessa,  and  early  in    1842  at  Yassi,  in  Moldavia.     After 
visiting  Lemberg,  Krakovia  and  Brunn,  I  went  to  Vienna,  where 
Sir  Robert  Gordon,  the  English  Ambassador,  gave  a  grand  con- 
cert expressly  to  introduce   me    to   the   Austrian  nobility.     Alter 
completing  my  engagements  at  Vienna,  I    sang   in    nearly  all  the 
German  cities,  and  I   may  mention  that  at  Munich  the  King  of 
Bavaria  prepared    the    programme   for  my  concert  with  his  own 
hand." 


V. 

no  YA  L  so  U VENIRS. 


"  This,  I  have  been  told,  was  not  the  only  royal  souxciiir  t)f 
your  first  tour,"  the  interviewer  suggested. 

"Oh,  no,"  Madame  Bishop  answered,  smiling.  "  A  little  1  )anish 
ballad  which  I  sang  at  Copenhagen  .so  won  the  applause  ol    Her 


108 

Majesty  that  she  presented  me  with  a  superb  diamond  brooch, 
and  at  the  great  fete  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas,  December  6, 
1 840,  I  received  a  splendid  set  of  diamonds  from  that  illustrious 
monarch." 


VI. 

IN  ITALY. 

"  I  \isited  Italy  in  the  Summer  of  1843,"  iMadame  Bishop  re- 
sumed, "and  performed  in  Verona,  Padua,  Venice,  Ferrara,  Flor- 
ence, Rome  and  Naples.  At  Naples  I  sang  in  '  La  Fidanzata,'  an 
e.xceedingly  popular  opera  by  Signor  Pacini,  and  achieved  a  suc- 
cess so  decided  that  I  was  engaged  for  the  San  Carlo  for  the  next 
twenty-seven  months.  During  this  period  I  appeared  in  opera 
three  hundred  and  twenty-seven  times  and  in  twenty-four  different 
works,  among  which  were  '  Otello,'  '  L'Elisir  d'Amore,'  *  La  Son- 
nambula,'  *  Beatrice  di  Tenda,'  '  II  Barbiere  di  Sivielia,'  '  Lucia  di 
Lammermoor,'  '  I  du  e  Foscari,'  '  Roberto  Devereaux,'  '  II  Bravo,' 
'  Le  Cantatrice  Villane,'  '  II  V^ascello  de  Gama,'  which  was  com- 
posed expressly  for  me  by  Mercadante.  In  '  Otello  '  I  sang  with 
the  celebrated  Donzelle,  and  I  repeated  the  part  of  Desdenwna 
eighteen  times  with  great  success,  although  at  the  time  IMalibran's 
memory  was  still  fresh  in  the  mind  of  every  Neapolitan.  My  en- 
gagement at  the  San  Carlo  closed  with  eclat,  and  then,  after  singing 
at  Palermo  during  \X\^  fetes  which  were  given  there  in  November, 
1845,  I  returned  to  England,  visiting  Zurich,  Berne.  Neufchatel, 
Geneva  and  Brussels,  on  the  way,  at  each  of  which  I  gave  concerts." 


VII. 

"  WESTWARD   110  r 

"  And  it  was  only  with  your  return  that  your  fu'st  tour  is  to  be 
considered  closed  ?"  the  interviewer  suggested  interrogatively. 

*'  Yes,"  Madame  I^ishop  replied.  "  I  had  been  absent  six  years, 
and  apart  from  the  reputation  that  I  had  made  as  an  artist,  I  had 
established  some  claims  to  be  considered  a  great  traveller.     After 


109 

remainiiii;  in  England  for  a  year  or  so,  sin*;ing  in  En^^lish  and 
Italian  opera  and  at  concerts,  I  determined  to  come  to  America.  That 
was  in  1847.  ^  ^^^^  here  three  years  before  Jenny  Lind  thou<rht  of 
coming,  and  I  preceded  Grisi,  Sontag,  and,  indeed,  all  the  great 
singers  of  that  period." 

"  Where  did  you  make  your  first  appearance  in  this  country  ?" 

"At  the  Park  Theatre,  August  4,  1847,  on  the  first  night  of 
Mr.  Simpson's  last  season.  I  was  announced  on  the  bills,  I  remem- 
ber, as  from  the  English  and  Italian  operas  of  Europe,  a  jjretty 
wide  designation,  but  one  which  in  my  case  was  not  unsuitable. 
My  f^edii^  was  made  in  an  English  version  of  •  Linda  di  Chamounix,' 
this  being  the  first  production  of  the  opera  in  America.  The  cast 
was  not  what  would  now  be  regarded  as  an  operatic  cast,  but  Mrs. 
Bailey — Miss  Watson — and  Mrs.  Knight  were  in  it,  and  altogether 
it  proved  quite  satisfactory.'' 

Madame  Bishop's  first  engagement  at  the  Park  was  very  suc- 
cessful, and  she  was  recognized  as  the  finest  acting  English  vocalist 
who  had  ever  appeared  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  At  that  time, 
too,  she  was,  Mr.  Ireland  says,  charming  alike  by  her  loveliness  of 
person  and  fascination  of  manner. 

"After  leaving  the  Park,"  she  said,  taking  up  the  thread  of  her 
narrative,  "  I  made  a  tour  of  the  country,  appearing  in  all  the  prin- 
cipal cities,  both  in  concert  and  opera.  For  several  years  I  re- 
peated my  visits  to  the  chief  towns  annually,  and  even  extended 
my  journeyings  to  Havana  and  Mexico,  and  finally  to  California. 
From  California  I  was  induced  to  visit  the  Australian  colonies." 


VIII. 

AT  THE  ANTIPODES. 

"  In  what  year  was  that?"  the  interviewer  asked. 

"I  reached  Sydney  in  December,  1855,"  Madame  Bisho[)  re- 
plied, "  and  began  a  series  of  concerts  immediately  upon  my 
arrival.  Subsequently  I  appeared  in  English  and  Italian  opera. 
F"rom  Sydney  I  went  to  Melbourne  and  Adelaide  and  then  sailed 
for  South  America,  landing  at  Callao.  I  remained  at  Lima  lor  a 
season  and  then  went  to  Valparaiso  and  Santiago,  appearing  in 
opera  at  all   of  these  places   to  large   and   enthusiastic  audiences. 


110 


After  completing  my  engagements  in  these  cities,  T  undertook  the 
perilous  journey  across  the  Andes  and  reached  Mendoza,  at  the 
foot  of  the  Cordilleras,  in  five  days.  From  this  point  I  continued 
my  line  of  march  across  the  Pampas,  reaching  Rosario  in  nine 
days.  I  then  visited  Parana,  Buenos  Ay  res  and  Montevideo,  giv- 
ing concerts  and  appearing  in  opera  at  each.  From  Montevideo 
I  went  to  Rio  de  Janeiro,  where  I  also  appeared  in  opera  and  was 
honored  on  several  occasions  by  the  presence  of  the  Emperor  and 
Empress  of  Brazil.  P>om  Rio  I  sailed  for  England,  where  I  ar- 
rived in  September,  1858,  after  an  absence  of  eleven  years." 


IX. 

A   YEAH  IN  ENGLAND. 

"  How  long  did  you  remain  in  England  that  time?"  the  inter- 
viewer asked. 

"  Not  quite  a  year,"  was  the  answer.  ''  I  made  a  tour  of  the 
three  kindoms  with  the  great  Jullien  and  sang  in  concerts  at  Exeter 
Hall,  St.  James'  Hall  and  the  Crystal  Palace.  At  the  Grand 
Musical  Festival  at  the  Crystal  Palace,  I  sang  Rossini's  '  Stabat 
Mater'  to  thirty-eight  thousand  people.  In  August,  1859,  I  gave 
a  farewell  concert  at  the  Surrey  Music  Hall,  and  immediately  after- 
wards I  sailed  for  America  a  second  time,  arriving  in  New  York 
in  September." 


X- 

IN  AMEliWA  ONiJE  MORE. 

"  In  New  York,"  Madame  Bishop  continued,  "I  again  appeared 
in  opera,  and  after  singing  in  Boston  in  (►ratorio  for  the  Handel 
and  Haydn  Society,  I  made  a  tour  of  the  Southern  States,  in- 
cluding Texas.  In  i860  I  was  in  St.  Louis  and  Chicago.  At 
Toronto  I  was  honored  with  the  presence  of  H.  R.  H.  the  Prince 
of  Wales.  My  sojourn  in  the  United  States  that  time  lasted  about 
five  years,  but  in  1865  I  revisited  Mexico.  Returning  to  New 
York  by  way  of  Havana,  I  determinetl   upon  a  tour  of  the  world." 


HI 

XI. 

ROUND  THE  WOULD. 

"  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  remember  the  particulars  of 
that  long-  journey,"  she  said,  taking-  from  her  desk  a  printed  slip 
which  contained  a  record  of  her  travels.  "  I  sailed  from  New- 
York  for  California,'  Madame  Bishop  continued,  after  scanning  it, 
"September  i,  1865,  and  arrived  at  San  Francisco  in  the  latter 
end  of  the  month,  where  I  gave  a  season  of  English  and  Italian 
opera  before  going  to  the  Sandwich  Islands.  Indeed,  a  tour  as  far 
as  Virginia  City  and  Carson  was  previously  undertaken.  At 
Honolulu  1  t>ave  a  series  of  concerts  in  the  Court  House  before 
the  King  and  Royal  Family  and  then  set  sail  for  Hong  Kong.  On 
the  passage  we  were  wrecked  on  Wake  Island,  which  was  merel)- 
a  coral  reef,  and  from  there  we  onl)-  managed  to  escape  in  an  open 
boat  to  the  Ladrones.  The  boat  was  but  twenty-two  feet  long, 
and  we  were  in  it  thirteen  days.  I  lost  everything,  including  m)- 
music,  but  still  I  managed  to  give  concerts  at  Amoy,  Foochow, 
Hong  Kong,  Singapore,  Calcutta  and  Madras.  I  made  extended 
journeys  into  the  interior  of  India  arjd  sang  before  both  native' and 
European  dignitaries.  After  going  to  Ceylon  I  visited  South 
Australia  and  New  Zealand,  and  made  my  way  back  to  London  by 
way  of  Aden  and  Alexandria.  Lasdy,  I  came  back  to  New  York 
and  again  filled  professional  engagements  in  the  United  States." 


XII. 

AROUND  THE  WORLD  AOAIX. 


'Mn  May,  1873,  I  gave  a  farewell  concert  in  Steinway  Hall, 
preparatory  to  another  tour  around  the  world.  This  time  I  took 
the  overland  route,  across  the  continent,  giving  concerts  at  all  the 
principal  cities  on  the  way,  including  Salt  Lake  City.  In  the 
Mormon  capital  I  gave  m)-  concerts  in  the  theatre  belonging  to 
the  Church,  and  closed  with  a  musical  jubilee  in  the  tabernacle,  on 
the  fourth  of  July.  The  temple  was  never  before  used  by  an\ 
person  for  a  like  purpose.      It  is  a  place  capable  of  seating  twelve 


112 

thousand  people,  has  one  of  the  best  organs  in  the  country,  and 
my  audience  on  that  occasion  was  a  grand  sight,  I  can  assure  you. 
1  have  often  thought  the  temple  the  most  perfect  building  for 
sound  I  ever  sang  in.  My  stay  on  the  Pacific  Coast  was  prolonged 
a  year  and  a  half,  and  it  was  not  until  October,  1874.  that  I  sailed 
for  Sydney  by  way  of  Sandwich  Islands.  I  met  with  a  kind  wel- 
come from  the  people  of  New  South  Wales  on  this  my  third  visit 
to  the  Antipodes,  and  gave  concerts  in  the  cities  of  Sydney,  Mel- 
bourne and  Adelaide,  visiting  Ballarat  and  other  towns  in  \' ictoria 
I  even  gave  concerts  at  Wagga-Wagga,  a  town  made  famous  as 
being  at  one  time  the  residence  of  the  bogus  Tichborne.  After  a 
stay  of  nearly  twelve  months,  I  sailed  for  England,  intending  to 
touch  at  Cape  Town,  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  on  the  way.  It  was 
in  September,  1875,  that  I  arrived  at  the  Cape,  where  I  found  the 
people  quite  new  to  me,  excepting  the  Governor  of  Cape  Colony, 
Sir  Henry  Barkley,  whom  I  knew  twenty  years  before,  when  he 
was  the  Governor  of  Victoria.  After  giving  twelve  concerts,  I 
visited  Port  Elizabeth,  Graham's  Town,  King  William's  Town, 
Durban  and  Pietermaritzburg.  Returning  to  Cape  Town,  I  made 
a  journey  to  the  Diamond  Fields,  on  my  return  giving  another 
series  of  concerts  at  Port  Elizabeth,  where  I  made  my  adieu  to 
South  Africa." 


XIII. 

PAST  AXD  PRESRiyr. 

Madame  Anna  Bishop  was  the  first  wife  of  Sir  Henry  Bishop, 
the  distinguished  musician  and  composer.  Some  years  after  the 
death  of  Sir  Henry  she  married  Mr.  Schultz,  and  now  signs  herself 
Anna  Bishop-Schultz.  She  is  well  preserved  and  happ)-,  in  reason- 
ably comfortable  circumstances,  and  almost  as  young  as  she  was 
thirty  years  ago.  Even  her  voice  retains  many  of  its  former 
marvelous  characteristics,  and  she  has  sung  in  New  York  within 
the  last  few  months,  and  nvdy  sing  again  to  the  wonder  and  delight 
of  her  admirers. 


THOMAS    H.HADAWAY. 


THOMAS    H.    HADAV/AY. 


I. 

.1   GREAT  nUT  FOUaOTTEN  COMEDTAN. 

In  the  palmy  days  of  the  drama,  Thomas  H.  Hadaway  was  an 
important  figure.  As  long  ago  as  183 1-2  he  was  acting  at  the 
Bowery,  under  Hamblin,  having  been  a  player  in  England  for 
more  than  ten  years  previously.  He  was  highly  appreciated  as  a 
comedian,  especiall)-  in  Philadelphia,  where  he  was  a  prime  favorite. 
His  most  attractive  part  at  that  time  was  Caleb  Qiioteiu,  in  the 
''  Review."  in  which  he  was  so  justly  celebrated  that  his  portrait  in 
the  clocked  stockings,  buckled  shoes  and  eccentric  wig  of  that 
universal  genius  was  engraved  to  ornament  the  edition  of  the  larce 
belonging  to  ^'Turner's  Dramatic  Library."  Once  in  a  long  time 
this  picture  ma)-  be  picked  up  in  the  print-shops  or  second-hand 
bookstores.  Hadaway  at  that  time  was  in  the  prime  of  life,  and 
the  portrait  presents  him  as  an  exceedingly  handsome,  graceful 
and  picturesque  actor.  It  is  in  marked  contrast  with  the  accom- 
panying picture,  which  was  engraved  from  a  photograph  taken 
about  twenty  years  ago;  but  in  still  more  marked  contrast  was  the 
glimpse  1  got  of  a  weak,  infirm  old  man.  at  his  home  at  Stony 
Brook,  Long  Island.  Thomas  H.  Hadaway  still  lives,  but  he 
is  excluded  from  the  world,  which  has  well-nigh  forgotten  him, 
because,  shattered  in  licalth  and  in  mind,  he  has  even  more  com- 
.  pletel\-  forgotten  the  world. 


114 

IT. 

Mli.  AND  MBS.  HAD  A  WAT. 

Hadaway  wasborn  at  Aifric,  in  Worcestershire,  in  1801.  When 
he  was  twenty  )'ears  old  he  took  to  the  stage,  but  his  efforts  for  a 
long  period  were  confined  to  the  provinces,  and  it  was  not  until 
1 83 1  that  he  obtained  an  opening  in  London.  There  he  married 
the  beautiful  Miss  Hallande,  whose  portrait  has  been  preserved  in 
the  Oxberry  Drama,  and  in  the  same  )ear,  with  his  young  wife, 
he  joined  Hamblin's  forces  in  America.  They  made  their  Amer- 
ican debut  on  the  New  York  stage  the  same  night  at  the  Bowery, 
November  10,  1831,  he  as  Douiinie  Sampson  in  "  Guy  Mannering," 
and  as  Robi)i  in  "  No  Song,  No  Supper.''  and  she  as  Lucy  Ber- 
tram and  Margarctta.  Mr.  Hadaway  proved  himself  one  of  the 
best  comedians  who  had  yet  been  seen  on  our  stage,  and  Mrs. 
Hadaway  gave  great  satisfaction,  both  as  an  actress  and  a  singer. 
To  him  it  was  the  beginning  of  a  long  career — to  her  it  was  only 
a  promise  of  a  bright  future,  for,  on  the  22d  of  August,  1832,  she 
died  suddcnl)'  of  cholera,  haxing  played  the  night  before. 


HI. 

FIHHT  8EAS0X  TN  NKW  YORK. 

Had  Hadaway's  memory  lasted  he  would  have  been  able  to 
give  many  interesting  reminiscences  of  his  first  season  in  New 
York.  Both  at  the  Park  and  the  Bower)-  it  was  the  epoch  of  a 
generation  of  \ouno-  actors  who  were  to  become  famous.  At"*the 
Bowery  especially,  when  the  1  ladaways  first  found  their  way  there, 
were  many  actors  and  actresses  alread)'  distinguished,  or  soon  to 
become  so.  Billy  (iates  was  in  the  height  of  his  popularit)'  in  the 
broad  humor  of  low  comed)-.  Cieorge  Jones,  in  later  life  the  eccen- 
tric so-called  Count  Joannes,  was  a  juvenile  tragedian  of  much 
merit  and  great  promise.  Josephine  Clifton  had  just  begun  her 
great  career  and  was  playing  Elvira^  Iklvidera,  Lady  Macbeth  and 
yniiet  for  the  first  time.     The  first   of  the  numerous  Mrs.  Ham- 


115 

blins — Elizabeth  Blaiichard — was  still  living  with  her  husband,  and 
the  second — Naomi  Vincent — made  her  debut  durinj^^  the  season. 
Among  those  who  are  still  living  may  be:  named  Emil)-  Mestayer 
and  Mary  y\nn  Russell,  the  daughter  of  Richard  Russell,  but  better 
known  as  Mrs.  Farren.  Mr.  Farren  as  Figgins  and  Miss  Mestayer 
as  Miss  Tlio))ipso)i,  played  with  Hadaway  as  Banbury  in  the  farce 
of  "  P^verybody's  Husband,"  With  Mrs.  Hadaway  as  Noma  in 
the  oriijinal  cast  of  the  "  Ice  Witch."  were  Georore  Jones  as  Harold, 
Gates  as  Maguus  Suoro,  and  Miss  Waring,  afterwards  Mrs.  j.  W. 
Wallack,  Jr.,  as /Ar/^?..  When  Mrs.  Hamblin  (Miss  Hlanchard) 
appeared  as  ]lctorinc,  after  her  return  from  P2urope,  Hadaway 
was  Griffon  ;  and  when  John  R.  Scott  produced  C.  W.  Taylor's 
dramatization  of  "  Eugene  Aram,"  he  played  Peter  Dcaltry  \\'\\\\ 
Mrs.  Hadaway  as  Madge.  It  will  thus  be  seen  that  the  new- 
comers were  brought  into  immediate  contact  with  the  popular 
favorites  of  the  time,  in  \  iew  of  which  their  success  must  be  con- 
sidered all  the  more  marked,  as,  of  necessity,  it  was  in  consecjuence 
of  distinguished  merit. 

F'or  the  season  of  1832-3,  the  Bowery  opened  on  the  20th  of 
August  with  the  ''School  for  Scandal."  The  cast  was  one  which 
at  this  day  would  be  regarded  as  phenomenal.  The  veneral)le 
William  Blanchard,  Mrs.  Hamblin's  father,  was  Sir  Peter,  and  Mrs. 
Hamblin  Lady  Teazle.  George  Jones  was  Charles  Surface,  Gates 
Moses  and  Hadaway  Crabtree.  In  those  days,  even  pla\s  cast  as 
Sheridan's  masterpiece  was  on  this  occasion,  were  not  put  on  "  tor 
a  run,"  and  on  the  second  night  of  the  season  the  "  School  for 
Scandal  "  gave  place  to  the  ''  Ice  Witch,"  with  Mrs.  Hadaway  as 
Noma.  Soon  after  the  performance  she  was  seized  with  the 
cholera,  and  she  died  the  following  day.  Subsequendy  we  miss 
Mr.  Hadaway's  name  from  the  bills,  and  when  we  next  hear 
of  him  he  is  in  Philadelphia. 


IV. 

HAD  A  ir.l  )'  IN  PHILADKLPIUA. 

"  Having  succeeded  in  establishing  the  ^^^1lnut  Street  as  a 
Winter  theatre,"  Wemyss  writes,  "  I  should  have  been  content  : 
but   the  Summer  season    having   been  looked   upon   heretofore  as 


116 

exclusively  belonging  to  this  theatre.  I  was  induced  to  make  the 
trial  which  cost  me  eleven  or  twelve  hundred  dollars  during  the 
fifty-six  nights  it  was  open,  and  is  only  remarkable  for  having  intro- 
duced Hadaway  to  this  theatre,  who  became  a  reigning  favorite 
during  the  whole  of  my  career  as  a  manager." 

This  was  in  1835.  Previously  Hadaway  had  been  with  May- 
wood,  Rowbotham  &  Pratt  at  the  Chestnut  Street  Theatre.  What 
were  his  parts  and  what  the  measure  of  his  success  it  is  impossible 
to  ascertain  at  this  time,  for  the  dramatic  ana  of  the  period  is  so 
scattered  that  onh-  a  long  and  laborious  search  and  great  industry 
would  bring  it  together.  In  the  books  written  by  the  Philadelphia 
managers,  Wood  and  Wemyss,  Hadawa\-  is  mentioned,  but  neither 
gives  the  parts  he  played  nor  any  analysis  of  his  acting.  In  "Twenty- 
six  Years  of  the  Life  of  an  Actor  and  Manager,"  his  name  is  set 
opposite  to  a  part  only  once — 2iS  Faini/icaj't'm  "  Jack  Cade,"  when 
the  play  in  which  Edwin  Forrest  afterwards  became  so  famous  was 
first  acted,  December  9,  1835.  The  piece  had  been  written  by  Judge 
Conrad  for  A.  A.  Addams,  but  it  was  in  reality  the  property  of 
Wemyss,  who  had  bought  the  right  to  produce  it.  Owing  to  his 
unfortunate  habits,  Addams  disappointed  the  audience,  and  finally 
Ingersoll  was  substituted  for  him  in  the  part  of  Jack  Cade.  Inger- 
solFs  name  was  in  the  bill  on  the  night  when  Hadaway  first  played 
Faintheart,  but  Addams  subsequently  took  the  role  and  failed  in 
it,  before  *'  Aylesmere  "  was  rewritten  for  Forrest. 


V. 

HAD  A  WA  TS  BENEFITS. 

The  best  measure  of  Hadaways  success  in  Philadelphia  is  to  be 
found  in  the  few  memoranda  of  his  benefits  which  Wemyss  thought 
fit  to  make.  When  that  energetic  but  unfortunate  manager  closed 
the  Walnut  Street  Theatre  under  his  management  forever,  July 
25,  1840,  the  closing  performance  was  for  Hadaway's  benefit.  At 
that  time  Hadaway's  rivals  were  William  \\.  Burton  and  John  Sefton, 
and  it  happened,  in  April,  1839,  that  the  three  took  l)enefits  in  suc- 
cession, Burton's  yielding  $536,  .Sefton's  $702,  and  Hadaway's 
$944.  Nothing  could  more  clearly  demonstrate  that  Hadaway's 
popularity  was  greater  than  that  of  either  of  the  others       In  May  ot 


117 


the  same  year  they  becran  an  enL,^agement  together,  but  Warren 

Manager  Warren,  the  father  of  WilHam  Warren  of  the  Boston 
Museum — complained  bitterly  because  he  could  not  get  them  to 
act  in  the  same  pieces.  ''  1  ladaway  frightened  them  both  off  the 
course,"  says  Wemyss. 


VI. 

JIADAWAV  AS  A  sTUHhJT  ORATOR. 


When  Wemyss  undertook  the  management  of  the  Arch  Street 
Theatre,  Hadavvay  went  with  him  as  stage  manager.     The  house 
was  to  have   opened   September   7.  1840,  with    a   novelt\-  in    the 
lighting  of  the  auditorium  even  more  astonishing  than  the  electric 
light  is  now — gas.      Burton   was   managing  the   Chestnut  Street 
Theatre,  and  he  too  was  intent  upon  gas.      Botli  theatres  were  to 
open  on  the  same  night,  and   the  same  plumber  made  the  gas  fix- 
tures for  both.      It  turned  out,  however,  that  while  Burton's  pipes 
were  finished  and  his  theatre  lighted,  Wem)-,ss'  were  ne_o-lected, 
and  late  in  the  evening,  when  the  audience  was  already  beginning 
to  assemble,  the  Superintendent  of  the  Philadelphia  Gas  Company 
informed  him  that,  as  the  pipes  had  not  been  proved,  it  would  be 
impossible  to  turn  on  the  gas.      The  doors   could   not  be  opened, 
but   the   crowd    increased   and   soon   grew   clamorous.      Wem\ss 
addressed    them    from   the   piazza,    explaining    the  difficulty,    and 
Hadaway  made  a  speech  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  on  the 
outskirts  of  the   crowd,   persuading   them   to   disperse.      This  is 
Hadaway's  only  known  attempt  at  street  oratory,  but  it  was  unfor- 
tunate the  attempt   was    necessary,  for  although  the  house  was 
opened  with  the  gas  on  the  following  evening,  it  was  only  to  $152. 
This  circumstance  finally  ruined  Wemyss  as  a  manager,  and  after 
two  weeks — the  first  of  the  season — the  company  was  disbanded. 


Vll. 

CALEB    qUOTKM. 


Hadaway  had  now  been  ten  years  in'New  York  and  Philadel- 
phia, and  in  the  latter  city  his  name  stood  highest  as  a  comedian. 
As    Hilson    was   e.speciall)-  distinguished    as    /\ru/  /Vv,  Sefton   as 


118 


Jemmy  Twih/icr.  Burton  as  Aminadab  Sleek  and  Toadies,  so 
Hadaway  made  his  greatest  mark  as  Caleb  Qiiotem.  The  farce  of 
"The  Review  ''  was  one  in  which,  as  John  Lump,  Junius  Brutus 
Booth  loved  to  make  himself  ridiculous.  As  early  as  1833  they 
had  played  their  respective  roles  together  at  the  Bowery.  In  1834 
Hadaway  played  his  part  at  the  Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  Phila- 
delphia, and  in  1836  and  1837  at  the  Walnut,  with  so  much  effect, 
that  in  the  latter  year  all  the  aspiring  comedians  of  the  time  played 
the  part — Burton  at  the  Chestnut,  in  Philadelphia,  and  John  Fisher 
at  the  "Park,  Gates  at  the  Bowery  and  Sefton  at  the  Franklin,  in 
New  York.  Despite  their  efforts,  Hadaway's  superiority  was  un- 
shaken and  while  farce  remained  on  the  stage,  he  continued  to  sing  : 


I'm  parish  clerk  and  sexton  here, 
My  name  is  Caleb  Quotem, 

I'm  painter,  glazier,  auctioneer, 
In  short,  I  am  factotum. 


VIII. 
BACK  TO  THE  BOWERY. 


In  July,  1843,  ^^fter  an  absence  of  twelve  years,  Mr.  Hadaway 
returned  to  the  Bowery  Theatre,  making  his  reappearance  as 
Marmaduke  Jlaeoo:  Durino^  the  season  he  occasionally  appeared 
in  familiar  }'oles  and  in  some  new  parts,  but  the  noteworthy  play 
that  year  was  Bannister's  "  Putnam."  This  piece  was  first  pro- 
duced August  5,  and  it  had  a  run  of  seventy-eight  consecutive 
nights.  Hadaway  played  Starkham.  Such  was  the  success  of 
this  play  that  the  season  of  1844-5  opened  with  it,  together  with 
a  domestic  drama  entitled  "Warning,  or  Woman's  Faith,"  in  which 
Hadaway  was  cast  for  Union  Jack. 

On  the  6th  of  January,  1845,  Boucicault's  "Old  Heads  and 
Youn*'-  Hearts  "  was  produced  simultaneously  at  the  Park  and  the 
Bowery.  At  the  former  Chippendale  was  the  Jesse  Rural  and  J. 
R.  Scott  at  the  latter;  Mr.  Crisp,  the  father  of  Henry  Crisp,  was 
the  Littleton  Coke  at  the  one  and  E.  L.  Davenport  at  the  other; 
and  Thomas  Barry  was  Tom  Coke  as  against  J.  B.  Booth,  Jr.;  John 
iMsher  Col  Roeket  as  against  Mr.  Milner;  \^^■^^\.^  Lord  Charles 
Roebuck  as   against   C.  W.  Clarke,  and    Skerrett    /)ob   as  against 


Hadawa)'.  Mrs.  Barry  played  Connfcss  Ponipiou,  Miss  C.  Kllis 
Lady  Alice  and  Mrs.  Abljott  Miss  Rocket^  at  the  Park  as  aj^ainst 
Mrs.  Stickney,  Mrs.  Phillips  and  Miss  Rosina  Shaw,  now  Mrs. 
Watkins. 

During  the  season  of  1845-6  Iladaway  created  the  part  of 
Tiuwthy  Treacle  in  the  "Wizard  of  the  Wave,"  IVaviba  in  the 
drama  of  "  Ivanhoe," — Mr.  I\  S.  Chanfrau  making  his  first  appear- 
ance as  the  aged  Cedric  of  Rotherwood — and  Badralbadcmr  in  a 
drama  by  T.  W.  Pittman,  entitled  the  "  Last  of  the  Thousand  and 
One  Nights." 

In  the  Autumn  of  1846  the  Bowery  passed  into  the  hands  of 
A.  W.  Jackson  with  V .  C.  Wemyss  as  acting  manager.  Hadaway 
was  retained,  appearing  on  the  opening  night  as  Pryce  Pelican  in  a 
drama  called  "Yew  Tree  Ruins,"  and  playing  Piideater  in  Cor- 
nelius Mathews'  pla)-  of  "  Witchcraft,"  which  Murdock  produced 
May  17,  1847.  This  season  closed  nadawa)'s  connection  with 
the  Bower)'  Theatre. 

IX. 

HAD  A  WA  Y  AT  THE  BROAD  WA  Y. 

The  old  Broadway  Theatre,  near  Worth  Street,  was  first  opened 
to  the  public  in  the  Autumn  of  1847,  with  the  "  School  for  Scandal." 
On  the  opening  night  C.  W.  Hunt  appeared  as  Crabtree.  Earl)- 
in  the  season  Mr.  Hunt  left  the  theatre  and  Iladaway  was  engaged 
in  his  place,  making  his  first  appearance  November  8th  d^s  Francois 
in  the  "  Ladder  of  Love."  Subsequendy  he  played  Cheap  John 
in  Buckstone's  "  Mowers  of  the  Poorest,"  Solomon  Griper  \n  Lover's 
''  Emigrant's  Dream,"  Bob  in  "  Old  Heads  and  Young  Hearts  "  to 
\}^^  Jesse  Rural  o{  Blake  and  the  Littleton  Coke  of  Lester  (Lester 
Wallack),  Tom  Badger  \\\  Brougham's  "  Romance  and  Reality," 
and  Snobson  in  Mrs.  Mowatt's  "  P'ashion." 

Hadaway  was  again  at  the  Broadway  in  the  season  of  1848-9, 
when  he  played,  among  other  original  parts.  Cade  rouse  in  deorge 
Andrews'  dramatization  of  the  "  Count  of  Monte-Christo,"  Nathan 
Prentiss  in  Charles  Edwards  Lester's  "  Kate  WoodhuU,"  JMajor 
Bellamy  T^uss  in  Boucicault's  "  West  End,"  and  Timothy  Wooden- 
head  in  "  Which  is  the  King?" 


120 

X- 
JIADA  WA  Y  AT  BARNUM \S  MUSEUM. 

Subsequently  Iladaway  played  a  short  engagement  at  Burton's 
Theatre  in  Chambers  Street  and  then  he  went  to  Barnum's  Museum, 
where  he  acted  such  parts  as  were  allotted  him  in  the  moral  dramas 
for  which  that  place  wa>;  noted.  He  gave  great  satisfaction  to  the 
patrons  of  the  Museum,  remaining  with  Mr.  Barnum  fifteen  years, 
and  finally  retired  to  his  farm  at  Stony  Brook. 


XT. 

rN   RETTREMENT. 

Mr.  Hadaway  has  been  twice  married  since  the  death  of  his 
first  wife,  but  he  has  suffered  many  domestic  misfortunes,  death 
being  a  frequent  visitor  at  his  hearthstone.  He  was  in  his  time  a 
great  favorite,  and  his  powers  as  a  comedian  are  still  remembered 
with  pleasure  by  a  few  old  playgoers.  His  fame  is  not  so  great  as 
Burton's,  but  his  merit  was  not  less,  and  but  for  the  cloud  which 
setded  upon  his  once  brilliant  intellect,  he  would  be  able  to  recall 
a  past  as  bright  as  any  in  the  annals  of  the  stage. 


M. 

!^ji  -::i' 


%""i 


-•**■  -^j 


ALEXANDER    ALLAN. 


ALEXANDER     ALLAN. 


A  STORY  Of  A  DRAMATIST. 

It  is  a  common  complaint  that  we  have  no  American  dramatists, 
and  yet  those  we  have  had — successful  ones  at  that — are  forgotten. 
Among  these,  there  is  still  living  an  old  man,  almost  weary  of  life, 
who  in  his  younger  days  was  the  friend  of  the  elder  Wallack,  the 
daily  companion  of  Mitchell,  and  the  chosen  scribe  of  Hamblin. 
Interesting  as  his  story  is,  it  has  never  been  told  ;  but  an  inter- 
viewer sought  him,  and  with  this  introduction  it  is  only  necessary 
to  present  him  in  his  own  words. 


II. 

OLANCE  AT  MR.  ALLAN'S  CAREER. 

His  name  is  Alexander  Allan.  He  was  born  in  London  in 
1806,  his  father  being  Scotch  and  his  mother  English. 

"  I  wrote  many  pieces  for  the  Old  Bowery,"  he  said,  "  when 
that  favorite  theatre  was  under  Hamblin's  management,  and  during 
Mitchell's  occupancy  of  the  old  Olympic,  I  altered,  localized  and 
re- wrote  a  large  number  of  the  pieces  produced  there.  I  wrote  m 
the  part  in  which  Mary  Taylor  first  made  a  hit,  and  I  also  wrote 
for  her,  her  celebrated  song  of  Lucy  Long.  My  last  play  was  the 
'Alchemist's  Daughter,'  a  very  powerful  one,  with  a  strong  part 
for  the  daughter.^  This  piece  I  left  with  A.  M  Palmer,  of  the 
Union  Square  Theatre.  I  may  say  I  have  still  a  later  play,  'The 
Skeleton  in  the  Closet,'  which  was  never  produced.  I  think  it  is 
a  strong  play  of  its  kind.  I  can  scarcel)'  hope  for  its  production, 
because  I  am  bound  to  confess  that  I  am  unable  to  write  the  society 
plays  at  present  in  vogue." 


122 

III. 
REMINISCENCES  OF  BRIGHTON. 

"Among  my  earliest  recollections,"  Mr.  Allan  continued,  ''are 
my  visits  to^he  Brighton  Theatre.  Brighton  had  not  yet  become 
the  fashionable  watering-place  it  now  is,  although  the  Prince 
Regent,  '  Gendeman  George,'  afterwards  George  the  Fourth,  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  it  as  a  bathing  place  and  built  his  palace  there — 
the  Pavilion.  I  remember  the  first  announcement  of  his  intention 
to  honor  the  theatre  with  his  presence.  The  house  was  crowded, 
but  he  did  not  come.  The  audience  was  not  slow  in  expressing 
its  displeasure ;  why,  I  did  not  then  understand,  as  his  Majesty 
was  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  performance.  I  had  frequendy 
seen  the  Regent  ride  out  with  his  suite  on  the  cliffs,  and  imagined 
Colonel  Congreve,  inventor  of  the  Cohgreve  rockets,  who  was  in 
the  company,  the  greater  man  of  the  two." 


IV. 

S  LO  MA  N. 


"At  this  period,  Sloman,  whose  daughters  I  believe  still  live 
in  New  York,  was  the  comic  singer  of  the  Brighton  Theatre,  and 
was  as  o-reat  a  favorite  there  as  he  afterwards  became  in  New 
York,  with  his  'Betsy  Baker'  and  other  songs." 


V. 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  QALT,  THE  NOVELIST. 

"  Descended  from  a  literary  family,  I  inherited  some  of  their 
talent.  My  aunt,  on  my  mother's  side,  was  the  author  of  *  The 
Monk  and  the  Vine  Dresser,'  and  of  a  volume  of  poems ;  and  a 
cousin  of  my  mother  afterwards  became  celebrated  for  his  literary 
connection  with  the  Scotch  monthlies.     John  Gait,  the  novelist,  was 


123 

also  a  connection  by  marriag"e  on  my  father's  side.  He  was  the 
great  man  of  my  childhood,  and  his  visits  in  all  probability  j^ave 
me  the  first  impulse  to  imitate  his  talents.  It  was  a  habit  of  his, 
you  know,  to  seize  upon  real  events  and  real  characters  as  the 
foundations  for  his  stories.  As  for  instance,  old  Grant  Thorburn, 
the  seedsman,  in  John  Street,  near  Broadway,  was  the  original  of 
Laury  Todd.  At  Brighton  my  brother  and  I  possessed  a  rocking- 
horse  ;  it  was  a  favorite  plaything  with  his  sons  and  us,  but  by 
some  accident  its  nose  was  broken.  At  a  dinner  party  Mr.  Gait 
was  offered  a  liberal  sum  by  a  well-known  publisher  for  a  story. 
The  disaster  to  our  rocking-horse  was  still  in  his  memory,  and  he 
made  that  his  subject.  It  delighted  me  when  it  was  published 
and  increased  my  admiration  of  the  author  a  hundred-fold.  I  pored 
over  his  '  Annals  of  the  Parish '  and  his  novel  which  contained  a 
powerful  description  of  the  great  plague  in  London  in  Edward  the 
Third's  time  ;  I  think  its  name  was  '  Rothersten.'  I  was  an  imagin- 
ative child,  with  less  physical  than  mental  abilities.  From  my 
infancy  almost  I  was  fond  of  books,  but  it  was  more  than  anything 
else  these  early  associations  with  the  author  of  the  '  Lives  of  the 
Players,'  which  gave  a  theatrical  direction  to  my  thoughts,  and 
made  me  in  the  end  a  playwright. 


VL 

ALLAN'S  EARLY  TEARS  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"  Years  past  away.  After  visiting  France  and  Scodand,  where 
I  remained  a  short  time  at  the  ancestral  estate — Broomielaw — I 
witnessed  in  Edinburgh  the  procession  in  which  Sir  Walter  Scott 
marched  to  welcome  George  the  Fourth.  A  few  months  later  I 
landed  in  New  York  with  my  mother  and  brother,  where  my  father, 
who  had  preceded  us,  joined  us  ;  that  was  in  1822.  The  yellow 
fever  was  raging  in  the  city,  and  so  after  a  brief  stay  we  went  to 
Paterson,  N.  J.  My  mother  died  there,  and  then  with  my  lather 
and  brother  I  came  back  to  New  York.  The  first  thing  which 
happened  me  here  was  to  be  thrown  from  a  horse  and  dragged, 
with  my  foot  entangled  in  the  stirrup,  from  White  to  Pearl  Streets, 
opposite  the  New  York  Hospital,  into  which  I  was  taken  and  ten- 
derly cared  for.      One  of  the  pleasantest  incidents  connected  with 


124 

this  accident,  which  was  a  serious  one  to  me,  was  the  kindness  I 
received  from  a  stranger.  A  few  doors  from  the  Masonic  Hall 
was  a  fruit  store  kept  by  an  old  Frenchman.  I  never  knew  his 
name,  but  he  often  brought  me  fruit,  and  even  now  that  I  am  an 
old  man  his  generous  sympathy  endears  him  to  my  heart.  Failing 
in  business  in  this  country,  my  father  returned  to  Liverpool  soon 
after  my  recover)-,  taking  me  and  my  brother  with  him.  It  was  his 
hope  that  his  relatives  would  take  care  of  us,  but  in  this  he  was 
disappointed,  and  so  he  brought  us  back  to  New  York  Reverses 
had  unsettled  his  mind.  Fortunately  he  succeeded  in  binding  us 
apprentices  to  the  firm  of  Addison,  Wilmar  &  Moffat,  manufac- 
turing jewelers,  before  he  became  hopelessly  insane." 


VII. 

ALLAN  WRITES  FOR  THE  ''MIRROR." 

"  I  worked  faithfully  for  my  employers,  but  the  craving  to  finish 
my  education  was  strong  in  me,  and  I  asked  them  to  afford  me 
an  opportunity  to  do  so.  The  reply  was  that  I  was  as  mad  as  my 
father  to  ask  it.  This  rebuke,  which  was  not  unkindly  meant, 
stung  me  to  the  quick.  I  was  painfully  sensitive,  and  from  that 
hour  shrunk  into  myself  I  rose  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning 
and  sat  up  until  twelve  at  night.  This  habit  I  followed  for  many 
years.  I  was  sixteen  years  old  when  I  wrote  my  first  article  for 
the  press.  I  remember  how  I  stole  down  to  the  Mirror  office  in 
Ann  Street,  and  dropped  my  communication  into  the  box  unseen. 
The  mirror  at  that  time  was  edited  by  Morris,  Willis  &  Fay.  To 
my  delight  my  contribution  was  published  in  the  next  issue.  My 
next  attempt  was  a  play,  intended  for  home  use,  and  my  contribu- 
tions to  the  press  continued,  but  I  made  no  attempt  at  play-writing 
for  the  stage  until  after  I  was  twenty-one." 


VIII. 

A  LLAN'S  FIRST  PL  A  Y. 

"  When  I  began  as  a  dramatist  I  encountered  all  the  disappoint- 
ments that  young  authors  must  expect  to  encounter.     At  last, 


125 


however,  I  had  a  piece  accepted  by  Edmund  Simpson  of  the  Park 
Theatre;  but  the  profitable  seasons  that  followed  with  Kean 
(Edmund  Kean,  after  his  return  from  ICngland  and  his  famous 
humble  apology),  appeared,  only  to  be  followed  by  other  stars. 
My  piece  was  laid  on  the  shelf,  and  no  doubt  forgotten." 


IX. 

THE  PIRATES  OF  THE  PIN  DA. 

"  The  first  piece  produced  for  me  was  at  the  Bowery  Theatre, 
with  Hamblin  as  manager.  It  was  accepted  by  Tom  Elinn  and 
produced  for  his  benefit,  under  the  name  of  the  "  Pirates  of  Pinda." 
It  helped  to  draw  a  full  house,  but  that  was  its  only  merit.  The 
actors  did  not  know  a  line  of  their  parts.  The  lines  probably  were 
not  worth  learning.  I  was  thoroughly  ashamed  of  my  work,  being 
fully  convinced  that  the  cause  of  failure  was  my  own  inexperience, 
but  one  advantage  was  gained  for  me  by  its  production — a  very 
remarkable  advantage  by  the  way — it  obtained  for  me  the  good- 
will of  Mr.  Hamblin." 


X- 

DRAMATIZES  "LEILA"  FOR  MR.    WALLACK. 

"When  James  Wallack  assumed  the  management  of  the 
National  Theatre,  in  Church  Street,  I  sought  his  acquaintance.  I 
admired  his  talents  as  an  actor,  and  soon  learned  to  regard  him 
with  warm  feelings  as  a  kind  and  courteous  gendeman.  At  this 
period  dramatized  versions  of  Bulwer's  novels  obtained  great 
popularity  at  the  Bowery,  through  Hamblin's  success  with  Miss 
Medina's  dramatizations.  In  consequence,  I  seized  upon  the  latest 
work  of  the  popular  novelist  just  then  published  and  dramatized 
it  for  Mr.  Wallack.  It  was  accepted  and  at  once  put  upon  the 
stage,  although  Miss  Medina  had  also  offered  Mr.  Wallack  a  piece 
from  the  same  novel.  It  was  entided  ''  Leila"  and  was  produced 
at  a  heavy  expense  and  kept  the  boards  until  the  end  of  the  season. 


126 


Findinof  that  I  was  the  successful  candidate,  Mr.  Hambhn  offered 
to  take  the  second  part  in  it  if  Mr.  Wallack  would  personate  the 
first.  The  honor  was  kindly  meant,  but  was  declined  in  conse- 
quence of  the  objections  of  Dr.  Hart,  who  had  personal  reasons  for 


disliking  Hamblin." 


XI. 

ANECDOTE  OF  HAMBLIN. 

"Speaking  of  Hamblin,  recalls  an  anecdote  of  his  sudden  rise 
on  the  stage,  which  I  had  from  his  own  lips  years  afterwards.  He 
was  at  the  beginning  of  his  career  little  better  than  a  supernu- 
merary under  Liston,  in  London.  One  day  the  eccentric  manager 
received  word  at  rehearsal  that  the  actor  who  was  up  for  Hamlet 
that  night  would  be  unable  to  appear.  There  was  no  one  who 
could  be  substituted  for  him.  Liston  was  perplexed.  What  could 
be  done  was  a  question  difficult  to  solve.  Hamblin  stood  at  the 
wing  listening  to  the  discussion,  and  after  a  while  ventured  to 
approach  the  manager,  and  offered  to  undertake  the  part. 

'  You,' exclaimed  Liston  sharply,  turning  around  and  eyeing 
him  from  head  to  foot 

'  I  have  studied  the  part  and  know  it  thoroughly,'  replied 
Hamblin  with  earnest  confidence. 

Everybody  was  astonished  at  the  young  man's  presumption. 
There  was  an  ominous  silence,  and  all  expected  to  hear  an  angry 
rebuff  from  the  manager,  but  Hamblin's  confident  bearing  and 
good  looks  made  a  favorable  impression,  and  after  listening  thought- 
fully to  such  parts  of  the  character  as  he  deemed  necessary,  Liston 
gave  his  consent  to  the  attempt.  It  proved  completely  successful, 
and  Hamblin,  through  that  night's  performance,  was  enabled  to 
achieve  his  deserved  eminence  in  his  profession." 


XII. 

tiOME  ACCOUNT  OF  ALLAN'S  PLATS. 

"  Mr.  Wallack  produced  another  play  of  mine,  '  Alice,'  and  still 
another  piece,  '  The   Drunkard's  Warning,'  was  cast  and  on   the 


127 

bills  when  the  unfortunate  destruction  of  the  theatre  by  fire 
occurred.  Of  my  connection  with  the  Olympic  when  Mitchell 
became  its  manager,  I  may  say  that  it  is  impossible  f(jr  me  to 
remember  even  the  names  of  the  pieces  I  produced  there  They 
were  written  hurriedly  as  occasion  required,  and  I  kept  few  copies 
and  no  record  of  them.  As  acting  pieces  they  were  highly  suc- 
cessful, but  as  literary  productions — shall  I  confess  it — I  was 
ashamed  of  them.  '  Asmodeus  in  New  York,'  '  May-da),'  '  Mrs  B.,' 
'  1940,'  '  Stars  at  the  Astor,'  '  Saratoga  Springs,'  'Twelve  Months,' 
'  The  Red  Man,' and  '  The  Lady  in  Black,'  were  among  them,  I 
still  remember  the  crowded  houses  drawn  by  them  in  the  Olympic's 
earlier  days.  The  pieces  I  wrote  for  the  Bowery  at  the  same  time 
were  equally  successful,  but  there,  too,  I  have  forgotten  the  names 
of  many  of  them." 


XIII. 

MISFORTUNES  BEGIN. 

"The  same  thing  is  true,"  Mr.  Allan  continued,  "  of  the  pieces 
I  wrote  for  Mr.  Hamblin  after  he  regained  the  Bowery.  While 
negotiating  for  it  he  sent  for  me.  I  had  previously  written  for  him 
a  national  drama  in  three  acts.  It  had  been  accepted  and  cast, 
with  Mrs.  Shaw  and  J.  R.  Scott  in  the  principal  parts.  Before  it 
could  be  produced  the  Bowery  Theatre  was  burned  down,  and  1 
thought  that  the  piece  was  lost,  Hamblin.  had  saved  it,  however, 
and  was  anxious  to  make  it  one  of  his  earliest  attractions  when  he 
reopened,  being  confident  of  its  success,  cast  as  originally  intended. 
While  the  neijotiations  about  the  theatre  were  Qoino-  on  I  took  the 
MS.  home  with  me  to  revise.  Several  other  pieces  were  written 
for  the  opening,  at  my  leisure,  and  produced.  'The  White  Boy,' 
dramatized  from  Mr,  Hall's  novel,  was  one  of  them.  Two  others 
followed,  but  they  have  passed  from  me.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at,  for  I  started  for  home  one  stormy  night  and  found  that  I  had 
lost  all  the  labors  of  my  past  life,  by  fire.  A  conflagration  that 
consumed  nearly  half  a  block  in  Wooster  Street  broke  out  during 
my  absence,  and  nearly  everything  I  possessed  was  irretrievably 
lost ;  all  my  books  and  manuscripts  and  a  large  stock  of  jewelry 
brought   for   a   few   weeks'  safe-keeping  from  our  factor)-  in   the 


128 

Bower)\  The  double  blow  was  a  heavy  one,  but  worse  ensued,  as 
my  brother  became  alarmingly  ill  from  the  excitement,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  manage  the  business  alone.  In  consequence  I  was 
compelled  to  relinquish  all  literary  engagements  from  inability  to 
attend  to  them.  It  was  giving  up  all  that  I  had  struggled  to  attain — 
all  I  had  hoped  to  achieve.  The  battle  of  life  had  to  begin  again, 
with  fewer  prospects  of  success,  for  the  shelved  dramatist  seldom 
if  ever  recovers  his  lost  position.  His  former  connections  pass 
awa)',  and  younger  aspirants  crowd  past  him  with  fresh  novelties, 
suiting  the  ever  changing  tastes  of  the  public,  which  he  fails  to 
recognize,  or  is  unable  to  gratify. 


XIV. 

TIl?J  WALLACES. 

"When  Mr.  James  Wallack  returned  to  New  York,  our  intimacy 
was  renewed.  I  wrote  a  number  of  three  and  five-act  pieces  for 
him,  in  two  of  which  he  studied  the  parts  ;  but  his  health,  after  he 
built  his  theatre  in  Broadway,  had  so  much  failed  that  he  was  never 
able  to  appear  there.  During  his  long  illness  I  was  constantl)' 
with  him,  and  he  became  deeply  attached  to  me,  as  I  was  to  him. 
Mr.  Lester  Wallack,  his  son,  has  been  equally  friendly  and  kind, 
and  to  him  I  am  indebted  for  many  an  hour's  enjoyment  in  his 
theatre,  to  which  I  have  always  been  received  with  a  warm  and 
hearty  welcome." 


XV. 

LONGINOti. 

"A  constant  writer  for  years,  I  have  many  MS.  pieces  and 
other  MSS.,  of  which  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak.  Whether 
they  will  ever  be  published  or  serve  for  a  bonfire  when  I  have 
passed  awa)-,  time  only  can  tell  ;  but  the  latter  fate  is  most 
probable." 


1^ 


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